


Une Affaire du Jardin

by klepto_maniac0



Category: Final Fantasy VIII, Final Fantasy X
Genre: Emotional Breakthrough, F/M, First Time, Masturbation, Recovery, Smut, auron the 35-year-old virgin with oneitis and ptsd, braska and jecht are awesomebad friends, quistis enjoys her job A LOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klepto_maniac0/pseuds/klepto_maniac0
Summary: The courtesans of Le Jardin choose their clients. Sometimes their clients are unusual.COMPLETED





	1. Chapter 1

While the nocturnal neighborhood around Le Jardin was respectable enough, the establishment itself was not. Modern and well-appointed and glamorous though it was, it was still a bordello and very much open for business nearly every night of the year. The front of the house was scandalous with its bevy of giddy and scantily glad girls, yet just respectable enough that elders and spouses could forgive someone wanting to see what the fuss was about for one night. Especially because of the back of the house was much worse. Oh, the back of Le Jardin was the stuff of guilty dreams and righteous nightmares, because its ladies were known to be beautiful, accomplished, fashionable, and incredibly, well... _Talented._ The top-tier ladies in particular were available only to the elite, and even then it was still a complicated process to meet with them. First one had to send their calling card. Then if the lady sent hers back, money was sent to Le Jardin's accountant. Only after then could the courtesan and the client see each other. For established clients, this could happen in as quickly as a few hours. For new clients, especially ones who had nothing more than money, it might not happen at all. The top-tier ladies were very choosy about who they saw and had been known to reject some of Deling City's wealthiest patrons because something about their demeanor annoyed them.

 

So knowing all of this made Auron—ex-monk, practicing ascetic, and currently employed as a man-of-all-work—wonder what in the world the courtesan Quistis Trepe had liked about _him._ His calling card had been store-bought pasteboard, his handwriting irregular and off-centered, and it was rumpled because he'd carried it to Le Jardin in his pocket rather than in a case. The servant at the door had actually sniffed when Auron had handed the card to him with a request that it be passed to Miss Trepe, and had taken it inside the building on a tray that he held out from him at nearly arm's length.

 

And yet he'd received a card back two days later, hand-delivered by one of Le Jardin's liveried servants while Auron had been on his way back from work. He actually been mistaken for “Mister Auron's man” and the servant had whisked away before Auron could correct him, but the card had been delivered nevertheless. And such a card! It was made of heavy, smooth paper that felt like silk to the touch, with a light pearl-like luster that Auron had never seen before. The edges looked sharp enough to cut flesh but were rounded just enough to feel pleasant in the hand. Hand-painted dahlias curled around Quistis Trepe's name, which was written in such a perfect hand that it was almost unreal. On the other side of the card was Le Jardin's crest and another name written in a much more businesslike script: the accountant, no doubt. And as if all of that wasn't overwhelming enough, the card was scented with tuberose and vanilla.

 

“She actually WROTE BACK?!” Jecht nearly exploded when Auron showed him and Braska the card. They routinely gathered at Braska's clinic at the end of the day, partly because it was the most central location to all their workplaces and also because Braska had been robbed a few times and having two strong friends to deter footpads made a difference.

 

“Are you going to go?” Braska asked, more interested than stunned or horrified. But then again, he had not been a priest in quite some time and even when he had been, his curiosity had tended to exceed his piety on a regular basis.

 

“I don't know,” said Auron, still looking at the card in bafflement. How could something the size of a telegraph post feel so heavy?

 

“You HAVE to!” Jecht shouted, getting visibly redder under his tanned skin.

 

“I'm not even sure I can afford it.”

 

“I will go halves with you, just GO!”

 

“Why? I don't think you'd be permitted to accompany me.”

 

“I know that!” Jecht said, gesturing impatiently. “But when is another working-class stiff ever gonna get an opportunity like this? You should go. And then you're gonna come back and tell us all about it.”

 

“I don't know...”

 

“Actually, Jecht makes a good point,” Braska mused, making the two other men look at him in shock. “I'll put in a third of the funds.”

 

“But sending the card was a bet,” Auron said helplessly, waving the card a little. “I didn't think I'd actually receive a reply.”

 

“What, now you _don't_ want to go see a gorgeous lady with tricks I can't even imagine?” Jecht looked like he was about to start throwing something around the clinic. “Auron! Ya shot for the stars _and landed in them!_ If ya don't go, I'm gonna kill ya.”

 

Auron ignored Jecht. It was not the first time the man had threatened him with death. Instead he looked at Braska, who was regarding him thoughtfully.

 

“I think it would be good for you to do something different and a bit exotic,” said Braska to Auron's unspoken question. “You're not too old to have adventures. Besides, she clearly likes something about you. Are you going to disappoint such a lady?”

 

“Besides, you ain't even attached!” Jecht exhorted, slashing the air in frustration. “No wife, no fiancée, not even a sweetheart—hell, you won't even look the apothecary in the chest!”

 

Auron glared at him. “That's because a gentleman does not look at a lady anywhere other than her eyes.”

 

“Your eyes have got sides to them!” Jecht said as he juggled invisible watermelons in front of his chest. “Don't pretend you haven't looked. You're celibate, not dead.”

 

“She's also in mourning.”

 

“Which means she's even _more_ off the table, so just gooo!”

 

“Why are you so invested in this?” Auron demanded of Jecht, who looked like he was about to kick something over or fall to the floor like a toddler. “What goes on behind the doors of Le Jardin is surely not much of a mystery to you. You've been married. And I know for a fact that you're very friendly with the girls of—”

 

“Yeah! So I know enough to be _very_ curious!” Jecht threw himself into the chair Braska used to take his patients' pulses, looking very serious all of a sudden. “You know how I make some extra money?”

 

Auron immediately recoiled, Braska's eyes going wide as he too leaned back.

 

“I hire on to help sail some fancy-pants floating parties,” said Jecht, oblivious to the conclusion that both his old friends had drawn. As they heaved sighs of relief, he went on, “Sometimes, the ladies of Le Jardin come around. And they're _gorgeous,_ Auron. Like impossible even to imagine. And these people who hire me, they're paying something like ten times as much just to have these ladies walk around! I want to know what the fuss is about aside from their looks. You gotta find out and tell me, Auron. It's going to give me fits otherwise.”

 

“Then why don't you send your own card?”

 

Jecht gave him a dirty look. “You think I haven't?”

 

Oh. Auron looked awkwardly at the one in his hand. “Well, then... Do _you—”_

 

“No,” said Jecht disgustedly. “First of all, I don't do pity. Second of all, you said the servant found you _personally._ Which means they know what you look like.”

 

“It's said that the owner of Le Jardin is a sorceress,” Braska mused to no one in particular.

 

“So if someone else shows up, they're going to be pissed,” finished Jecht.

 

Auron shook his head. “Why? As long as money changes hands, what difference does it make?”

 

“It's the difference between a courtesan and a _grisette,_ ” said Braska unexpectedly, making Auron look at him in surprise. Braska chuckled and said, “When I was 'Father' Braska, it was not unusual to have that type of woman come to confess. Interestingly, the courtesans were never guilty about their professions but the _grisettes_ were. I believe being able to choose who they wanted to see made for very different experiences.”

 

“Right, which means she wants to see _you,”_ said Jecht, gesturing at the card. “Don't you want to see her? You chose her for a reason, right?”

 

“I picked her name off one of the bills at the front gate. Apparently she sings.”

 

“Oh my GOD!”

 

“Take a walk, why don't you,” said Braska, amused and yet firm. Swearing like he could power a locomotive with his steam, Jecht surged out of the clinic and slammed the door that led out to Braska's modest herb garden. Braska continued cleaning up his clinic, which served the working poor of the community with a combination of Yevonite, Al Bhed, and other Spiran techniques. Auron put the card into his chest pocket and found a broom to start sweeping. It was a very small clinic, run by Braska and his daughter Yuna, and consisted of a single large room with screens between multiple tables for privacy. Normally Yuna would sweep before she left for the day. However, at the moment Yuna was studying for university entrance exams and Braska wanted her to concentrate on that above all else, meaning that in her absence Braska could talk freely with his old friends and vice versa.

 

“If you don't respond, that's entirely your choice,” said Braska as Auron started sweeping along the edges of the main treatment room. “And I know you're not the type to wonder about what might have been. But...”

 

“What?”

 

“Well... You're thirty-five.”

 

“So?”

 

“And you've never had a romance with anyone.”

 

Auron kept sweeping. The subject was a sore one, but not for the reasons Braska thought.

 

“I think it would be nice if you had one for a short time,” said Braska, tidying away small porcelain jars of expensive ingredients. “The courtesans specialize in making a man feel desired and whole.”

 

Auron looked at Braska flatly, turning like he could glare out of his scarred-blind eye. He had other scars too, ones that hadn't seen the light of day since they'd been magically sealed shut. They throbbed with the changing of the weather and in addition to that, were rather ugly to look at. The accident had nearly disemboweled him had also left motor oil and metal filings inside his body and the powerful healing spells had forced them all to the surface in streaks of grey and red that still looked raw ten years later. The one time Auron had taken his shirt off to do some work in the blistering heat, there had been literal yells of horror from the men he worked with every day. Had there been a woman around, she probably would have fainted.

 

“That's not what I meant,” said Braska evenly, though he did drop his gaze. “You've been lonely your whole life. I think some companionship would do you well.”

 

“You're lonelier than I am,” said Auron, resuming his sweeping. “You've not gone courting since Rina died.”

 

“Rina was the love of my life,” said Braska serenely. “Once you've met such a person, there is no point to settling for anyone less.”

 

“ _Exactly,”_ thought Auron, concentrating on sweeping up every bit of dirt he could see. Once someone had met Rina, there was no point to settling for anyone else. Besides, how could Auron enjoy the pleasures of companionship when he was the reason Braska and Rina no longer had theirs? If he'd just pushed her out of the way faster, she wouldn't have been hit by the auto. She wouldn't have landed with her head directly under the jagged undercarriage. Auron's grip on the broom tightened as he tried not to think about what had happened literally right before his eyes. In some ways, Braska not holding his failure against him made things worse. He was too kind to Auron, especially considering something else Auron had never told him.

 

“You're too young to cut yourself off from the world,” said Braska, making Auron remember when he'd said the same words nearly fifteen years ago. Back then, Auron had been prepared to spend the entirety of his life in the Temple as a warrior monk, but Braska had cajoled him out of the halls with a request for protection on a mission trip. If he had never gone with Braska, what would his life be like now?

 

“ _Wake up. Pray. Guard the priests. Pray. Train. Pray. Sleep. Sometimes travel from one temple to another. Pray. Die. And go to Heaven, presumably.”_

 

Once that routine had seemed as solid as stone and as inevitable as the sunrise. Now, however, thinking of it made Auron itch. He much preferred life outside the Temple, especially the longer he was away from it. His first few years away had been terribly exciting in all meanings of the word and he did look upon that time fondly, when he had been learning new things and seeings new sights... And it wasn't like he'd be breaking promises to anyone if he wanted to try something unusual...

 

“Braska.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You won't... You won't think less of me?”

 

“Of course not.” Braska chuckled. “But like Jecht, I do expect a full report with a certain amount of detail. None of your monosyllabic responses, if you please.”

 

Auron couldn't help but laugh. “None at all. Well... I suppose I should contact the accountant, then. And figure out just how much we're all in for.”

 

/\/\/\

 

The figure was steep even split among three people, but Jecht apparently had quite a bit saved up from his extra job and paid more than his share to ease Braska's burden. So five days later that Auron went to Le Jardin, entering through the front door like all the patrons did and bearing a reply card that made the door servant guide him to a parlor without hesitation. The outside of Le Jardin was splendid enough, all lit up with lanterns that gleamed off the polished stonework and soaring several stories above the plebeian neighborhood around it. The inside was splendid too, but as a riot of color and opulent textures. The parlor Auron was escorted to had walls covered in brocade instead of flocked paper and the ceiling was both vaulted and twenty feet high, with the room being illuminated by both a chandelier and a small,stoked fireplace behind an ornate screen. A comfortable distance from the fire were two chairs and a small round table, all of which had the soft patina that only well-maintained furniture acquired and both of a dark, rich-looking wood that Auron didn't think was local. On the table was a single glass and a crystal decanter full of something golden.

 

“Please take your ease here, sir,” said the servant, who seemed a great deal more polite than the one who'd originally received Auron's calling card. “The lady will be arriving shortly.”

 

“ _I paid so much for this time and now I have to wait?”_ Auron thought, but nodded. It wasn't like he was in a rush. Actually he felt nervous bordering on sick with the way his stomach kept rolling around and he was not at all sure he should be in this building. Only the knowledge that this adventure would not have lethal consequences kept him still, that and the fact that the decanter seemed intriguing. If Auron had one vice, it was drink. Not debilitatingly so, but he did like his alcohol and he couldn't help but wonder what something that looked like honey could actually taste like.

 

“ _Well, it wouldn't be there if it wasn't to be consumed,”_ he thought, walking over to the table. His steps were silenced by a carpet of such deep plush that it was like stepping on grass, and it was so soft that Auron nearly stumbled. When he glanced down at his feet, he saw impressions of his shoes in the pile. His skin crawled a bit at the realization that he was walking on something that likely cost more than an entire year's worth of salary and started to bend down to take off his shoes, except he heard a click from somewhere and looked up to see someone who could only be the famous, peerless, and selected-on-pure-whimsy Quistis Trepe.

 

“Good evening,” she said with a smile that had to be a practiced expression, yet seemed full of nothing but genuine pleasure. It transformed her already beautiful face into a work of art, calling to mind gemstones and other precious materials as Auron took in her faultless appearance. And it was truly faultless, even though the scooped neckline of her gown was rather daring and her shoulders were practically bare, so thin were the straps that went up around her neck. Her arms were covered by gleaming black gloves that seemed somehow sinful and decadent.

 

“Good evening,” Auron said stiffly. He was aware he was sweating underneath his dark glasses and the white muffler he wore at all times, the better to hide his facial scarring with. At least they kept him from disgusting this polished lady. More than ever Auron was powerfully aware of the fact that he was likely not her usual sort of client. His suit was well-made but several years out of date and worn, even though he took it out only for special occasions. His shoes were polished but still old and scuffed. He hadn't even dyed the white streaks out of his hair because he put that little care into his appearance, though at least today he had shaved.

 

“Would you like a drink?” Quistis asked, her voice sweet and calm. Of course she was calm. She was a courtesan. She literally did this all the time. Auron tried to speak, but his mouth was dry with nerves so he nodded instead. She went to the table, unstoppered the cut crystal decanter, and began to pour some of that intriguing golden liquid into the glass. She did not grab the decanter by the neck or body, but cradled it in both hands and turned even the act of pouring into something elegant. Auron focused on her motions to avoid staring too much at the line of her long neck, the dip of her waist and the curve of her behind. It was all shown off to great effect in a nearly backless gown that shimmered shades of deep sunset when she moved, a subtle thing that nevertheless held his eye. When she stopped pouring, Auron found himself looking at the ceiling in the most pitiful attempt to not be caught leering.

 

“Do sit,” said Quistis, and Auron obliged, suddenly very self-conscious about how he sat own in a chair. Everything here was too fancy. Everything here was too strange. Quistis even handed him the glass with both hands, one underneath and one behind, so whether on purpose or not, the honey-colored liquor in the glass now took on an inner glow from the fire nearby. Auron took the glass with a stiff nod of thanks and sniffed the liquor. A penetrating warmth filled his nose with distinct yet delicate notes of honey, apple, and oak, and when he took a cautious sip the liquor was so smooth that it could have been milk. It warmed his throat just short of burning and settled in his stomach like a cheery little flame of its own, comforting and solid. Maybe it would give him courage or at least anchor him so he didn't flee. What was there to run from, anyway? A pretty woman? A really, really pretty woman?

 

Quistis sat down in the other chair with a knowing little smile and rested against the arm of it. She wore nothing like a corset that Auron could see and so could lounge rather than sitting properly upright, making the low scoop of her neckline dip distractingly low. It was such a subtle difference of posture and yet enough to make Auron warm without needing the fire. He gripped the glass and looked down in the brandy, momentarily lost in the refraction of the flames shimmering within.

 

“I'm so glad you're here,” said Quistis, making Auron flinch a little. “I was uncertain if you'd accept my invitation.”

 

“ _Yes, your invitation to pay vast amounts of money for... For... What is this, anyway?”_

 

“I was flattered to receive it,” said Auron, which was true... Sort of. He _should_ have been, anyway, instead of just staring at the reply card like it was going to bite him. “Yet I must admit some curiosity. You are an accomplished lady with your choice of, uh... Callers. But why would you wish to meet with someone like me?”

 

“I don't want to meet _someone like you,_ I wanted to meet you,” she said, smiling. “Your handwriting intrigued me.”

 

Auron instantly flashed on how terrible his penmanship was, even when he was trying his best to be correct on something like a calling card. He could print perfectly fine, but calling cards demanded copperplate. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't spattered ink everywhere by accident when he'd tried to treat the dip pen like the brushes he'd grown up learning to write with.

 

“Why would a former monk of Yevon be sending calling cards to me?” She mused, and Auron nearly dropped his glass in shock. How had she known that? “And more than that, a calling card smelling of mechanical lubricant, as machina is so clearly prohibited in the faith?”

 

The calling card had been in his jacket pocket. His work jacket pocket would _of course_ smell like lubricant since he sometimes fixed pumps and sewing machines for pay.

 

“And I do wonder why you wanted to see me above all the other girls,” said Quistis, which made Auron flush as he remembered his haphazard selection. “What about me intrigues you?”

 

“I heard you sing,” he said evasively. It wasn't technically a lie; he had heard that she sang, not that he'd actually heard her sing before. His gut nevertheless twisted with the sophistry.

 

Quistis chuckled. “I see. And what song of mine pleased you so?”

 

Auron's mind went blank. A song of _hers?_ As in she performed original music? Did she write her own too?

 

“Ah... I...”

 

“Was it this one?” She asked as he struggled, and without reservation began to sing a song that made Auron sit up with recognition. The subject matter was simple; it was about love and flirtation, and the lyrics were somewhat saucy. If she trying to seduce him with them, however, it was a lost cause. Auron was too impressed by the sweet, clear sound of her voice and her breath control to notice much else. The Temple of Yevon had a strong musical tradition and Auron had grown up around some of the finest voices in the world. Quistis would not be out of place among them even without holiness elevating her words, though the warm look she gave him under her long lashes would, uh... Set her apart.

 

“Your voice is wonderful,” he said sincerely when she finished. “I had no...”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Not appreciated it as fully before,” Auron lied, remembering that he'd supposedly heard her sing once before. Now he felt awful about picking her name at random to silence Braska and Jecht over a drunken bet. “I'm surprised you aren't with the Opera.”

 

Quistis chuckled. “The Opera would be rather too restrictive for me. I enjoy where I am.”

 

“You do? Even with...?” Auron couldn't imagine she enjoyed 'entertaining' every client. Wasn't that process supposed to be annoying and sometimes painful for women anyway?

 

“Yes,” said Quistis with a smile and a purr in her voice that made Auron start to sweat again. “I do.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Have I made you nervous?”

 

“No,” he lied. “You're just different than I expected.”

 

“As are you,” Quistis said, shifting to rest on the other chair arm. Something about the fire made her eyes gleam like a wild thing's, which made Auron a little nervous again.

 

“What did you expect of me?”

 

“That you wouldn't come because you'd think it was wrong. Either because you thought you were damning yourself or you thought you were hurting me.” She smiled. “Is it possible that you came just to have a wonderful time?”

 

“I hope to,” said Auron, keeping an uncouth retort about money behind his teeth.

 

“And what would be a wonderful time to you?” Quistis smiled as Auron coughed a bit, acutely embarrassed. “Don't be shy. I'm genuinely curious as to what you like, and I must confess, you're enough of a mystery to me that I don't have any guesses. We could just talk if you'd like.”

 

“ _If I only wanted talk I could go to Lulu's,”_ thought Auron a little uncharitably and a little wistfully. Lulu the apothecary was very lovely, but in a more forbidding way than Quistis's warm elegance. She was also a widow still in mourning, which was why Auron hadn't tried to do more than talk to her. Lulu did seem to like talking back to him, though; he'd seen her freeze and fry people she didn't like, both with words and magic. She'd even given him tea and talked to him at length without flinching.

 

“I... Well...” Auron shifted in his seat, not knowing where to look or what to do. “I don't know. I have no... Frame of reference.”

 

Quistis inclined her head, her expression becoming polite and neutral, while still friendly. “Something brought you here, aside from wanting to hear my voice. Please, tell me. I'd like to know how to make this evening memorable for you.”

 

Auron stared at his glass and the finger's depth of alcohol still within. He took a long, slow drink, the warmth of the liquor distilling his thoughts as he swallowed.

 

“ _Well, this_ is _my time,”_ he thought a little stubbornly. _“Even though Jecht threw a lot of money at me, it was just to get me through the doors. I'm still here because Quistis Trepe wanted to talk to me. So she should know who she's talking to.”_

 

“It's a long story...”

 

“I don't mind,” said Quistis, elegantly resting her cheek on her hand.

 

Auron nodded uncomfortably. He still couldn't bring himself to say the words, simple though they were. Even thinking them made him feel raw and pathetic. But at the same time, Quistis was a courtesan and surely this could not be the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. So there was nothing to do but explain. Auron took a measured drink of the excellent brandy and let the heat temper his nerves into purpose. He shut his eyes, the better to concentrate, and started at the beginning.

 

“Twenty years ago I was a warrior monk of the Temple of Yevon. Braska, my friend and brother, went on a mission to convert the unbelievers to our ways, but he did not go to Ivalice or Terra or any other place. He came here to Galbadia, rightly thinking that there were a great many godless people here who deserved to be saved as much as some poor savages across the sea. I went with him to protect him from those who took the Word as just a word.

 

“Rina argued with us daily. She was Al Bhed. Braska first tried to preach on the street, but she would not permit him. She refuted every point he made and questioned everything else. She never let us _simply_ believe. Amazingly, Braska found her charming. After a year of this, he proposed. She refused, but they kept talking on other matters for another year. Finally they were married, and Braska and I were excommunicated for fraternizing with the heathen. I didn't care. Rina had changed our lives. But there was an accident and she died. Braska focused on his daughter, but I had... I had nothing.”

 

Quistis cocked her head, an unspoken question nearly parting her lips. Though it made his stomach twist, Auron was compelled to clarify.

 

“I... I was fond of Rina. But she was not mine, so I said nothing. And from then on, it seems that when I find anyone I am fond of in the same way, I see her face instead.”

 

Quistis just nodded, her face still bright with interest. Auron's grip tightened around his glass, but he kept talking. Now he was coming to part of the story that made him very nervous indeed, and he took another drink to calm himself.

 

“And it's not simply that I see her face. I was there at the accident. The one that took her life. It left me wounded.” He gestured at the scar on his face, saying, “I see her face as... As she dies. And for a while, I feel like I'm still on the street.”

 

“ _Gutted. Bleeding. Dying.”_

 

“Worse, sometimes I can't breathe. I can't stand. There's pain too. Over the years, I've found it is easier to avoid entanglement rather than suffer those symptoms, so I've never sought out any kind of companionship. And that is why I have no frame of reference.”

 

Whatever Quistis had been thinking, this was surely not it, because she blinked and sat up a little straighter. It was a small motion but enough to make Auron tense up, fearing some painful questioning. But the brandy kept him seated like a warm rock in his stomach, so he did not run away. It wasn't like he could outrun the truth, after all.

  

“Well,” she said, and the sound of her voice breaking the silence was enough to make him startle. “In that case, may I ask a question?”

 

Auron looked at her in surprise. “What could you possibly want to know?”

 

“May I?”

 

“...you may...”

 

“Since you loved Rina very much, may I assume that the uncomfortable memories only return with genuine affection rather than base lust?”

 

“Ah...” Auron swallowed at her boldness, but then thought about her question seriously. “Yes. That's true. But it seems to have wrong to have one without the other.”

 

Quistis nodded, her face turning thoughtful. Though his guts coiled with tension and imagined slights, Auron was relieved that she wasn't laughing at him or gasping in shock. To be thirty-five and so ignorant of the more physical aspects of love was unheard of for a man, yet in Auron's mind it was far from unreasonable. Besides, who would want to be with him if he was liable to shake or faint without warning?

 

“It's fine,” he said when Quistis continued to say nothing. “Even if I were to marry, I know nothing of being a good husband. Not even how to fulfill the duties of the wedding night. So it's no great hardship to abstain.”

 

“It is true that you cannot miss what you never had,” said Quistis contemplatively. “But thinking about what might have been can haunt you just as badly. I am so glad you accepted my invitation, Auron. Truly.”

 

Auron looked at her strangely. “Why?”

 

“Because of all women, a courtesan is best able to give a man the sweetness of love while asking nothing in return, and everyone should feel loved by someone, sometime.” Quistis smiled a little. “And more than that, I can help you prepare for your wedding night, if you choose to marry in the future.”

 

“Prepare? What do you...?”

 

“It is as much for your future bride as it would be for you,” said Quistis with a little chuckle. “Two virgins in the bed are too many, isn't that so? And even if the lady should not be one, she may have certain expectations.”

 

Auron cringed internally. That was another reason he hadn't pursued companionship.

 

“If you would permit me, I would like to instruct you on how to exceed those expectations and keep you both very happy for the rest of your lives,” said Quistis, now looking at Auron with a certain warmth and intrigue. “And I'm told I'm a _very_ good instructor.”

 

All the blood in Auron's body seemed to rush up to his face, mortification drowning out the reasonable little voice that pointed out that of course _this_ was a skill like any other. And it was not every day one had the opportunity to learn from a master, even if that master looked to be half his age.

 

“There are certain things that I cannot teach you, of course,” Quistis mused, now looking very lively despite not having moved an inch. A restrained delight seemed to lift her figure as she added, “Not without becoming rather creative, anyway. But I can tell you what feels wonderful and how to evoke those sensations in any lady. And I can show you how to make love so thoroughly that your beloved will not be able to think of anyone but you.”

 

It was a good thing Auron was not drinking or he would have spat brandy all over Quistis at her audacious words. As it was, his heart was hammering alarmingly and Auron had to take a few deep breaths and hope that no attack would come for him here. But Quistis sat calmly and smiled like nothing was wrong, and Auron gradually realized that his heart was not hammering because of embarrassment, but because of excitement. After all, he had come to have _some_ kind of experience, had he not? And he got the impression from Quistis's lively look that this was a novelty for her, which mean she didn't hand this knowledge out to just anyone.

 

“Thank you,” he said formally, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity and restraint as his heart continued to race and his body started to heat up. “That would be most kind.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write the final scene so much, but getting there was a heinous bitch. Even now I'm not sure I have adequately ground away at Auron's saintly morals enough. In my defense, however, he is alive in this fic and I'm pretty sure there are no straight men in the world who could resist Quistis if she put her mind to it. 
> 
> A couple of people have commented that Quistis is very confident in this. Yes, she is. She should be. In-game she was a hypercompetent SeeD who passed the field exam at age 15, so I'm translating the drive that led her to that position to an aptitude (or at least a very game attitude) towards this type of work.

Quistis's answering smile was equal parts exciting and worrisome. And when she rose as smoothly as water flowed, the shifting hues of her gown coloring her in mystery, something rather like fear started prickling through Auron's stomach. How could he feel his inexperience so keenly when nothing yet had happened? Yet Quistis was undeniably the master of this space. She had a piercing gaze that left him breathless with what she assessed from his figure; Auron had seen such a gaze before, but only on old priests and training masters. She had the measure of him somehow, but he couldn't begin to fathom what she was even judging in the first place. Auron tensed up, forgetting to breathe a little as she slowly raised her arms.

 

“Please remain seated,” said Quistis, her voice blending with the hypnotic rush and crackle of the fire. As she raised her hands to her hair, she added, “Firstly, let me assure you that a great many men have _no_ idea what they're doing with women, so inexperience can be a gift.” When Auron looked at her very strangely, she clarified, “You have nothing to unlearn. And your willingness to try makes you exceptional.”

 

Auron mulled over this, something like surprise pushing up under layered years of doubt. It made sense, but he'd never once thought of things that way.

 

“Secondly, I suspect you are the type of man who likes to know what to do. Therefore, there will be two parts to this special course. Practice will come later...”

 

 _Practice._ Knowing what she really meant made Auron very warm under the collar and once again wondering if this was truly the right thing to do. Quistis might pretend to enjoy his company now, but eventually...

 

“But for now, there will be observation,” said Quistis, and Auron blinked in confusion. He nearly glanced around the room to see if an unknown person was hiding in the shadows because what else could she mean, but then Quistis did something with her hands and Auron's curiosity fell to pieces as curling waves of rich golden hair tumbled down her neck and shoulders, warming her skin with a sunlike brilliance. Even artless at the whims of gravity, Quistis was still impossibly perfect. Had they met in any other circumstances, Auron was sure he would have looked right past her because she seemed to exist on another plane of reality. Even if he had been young and whole, he would not have thought he'd merit her attention, much less her favor. Yet here he was, so...

 

“What am I meant to observe?” Auron asked, focusing himself to the matters at hand. He needed to pay attention to learn what Quistis was going to tell him, but she seemed determined to test his concentration by sliding her hands up over her stomach, the inky blackness of her gloves spanning the slenderness of her waist and skimming the center line between her breasts. Just as distracting was the smile on her face, generous and sweet and also intimidating in the scope of implied experience. As Quistis moved to the line of small satin-covered buttons that went down the center of her dress, Auron unconsciously leaned forward as she started to toy with them in a deliberately careless manner.

 

“Reaction.”

 

“What?”

 

Quistis smiled, some of the uncomfortably thrilling warmth going out of her gaze. Instead she looked a bit more playful, which could be either reassuring or even more worrisome. “The string of beads on your belt... You were once a warrior monk, were you not?”

 

Auron looked at his belt and the small, worn rosary he'd wound around it just above his left hip. He was no longer permitted to carry a sword, but the beads had just enough weight and pressure for the scabbard he'd used to wear for most of the early part of his life. They were such a usual part of his dress that he put them on automatically.

 

“I imagine that during your training, you were taught to read the sense of action in your opponents,” said Quistis, which made Auron wonder where she had learned the exact phrase he had heard all throughout his childhood. Before he could think too much about that, she asked, “What are the common ways an opponent might betray themselves?”

 

“The breath,” Auron said automatically. “The eye. The waist. And the spirit.”

 

“Very good,” said Quistis with a little smile, and while Auron was struggling with surprise (that she knew what to ask, that he remembered the answers) and embarrassment ( _who_ had she learned these things from, really?), she continued, “Naturally your beloved will not be your opponent, but similar principles apply. For example, the breath...”

 

Quistis gripped either side of her bodice with a surprisingly firm hand. With a loud pop she literally pulled it open, making Auron gasp when he saw a hand's width of flawless ivory-pale skin where there'd once been sunset-colored fabric. His heart thundered in his chest like he'd been hit by lightning. Belatedly he realized he'd lost his grip on the brandy glass and made a clumsy grab for it as it tumbled from his fingers and landed on the rug, bouncing once and spilling liquor everywhere.

 

“Damn it!”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Quistis look quite surprised, like she'd expected a much different reaction. But by the time he scooped the (thankfully unbroken) glass off the ground and put it back on the little table, a look of coy amusement was back over her face. Nevertheless Auron burned with embarrassment, knowing he'd reacted like a fool. He  _had_ seen women in various states of undress before, just not so suddenly. 

 

“A point to me,” said Quistis lightly, and Auron couldn't help but let out a rueful half-laugh. If this had been a sparring match, he would have been on his back with a ringing head. Honestly, the way he felt now wasn't far off. And strangely enough, that helped. He had already acknowledged Quistis was the master and he the novice. Some shock was to be expected. At least these shocks would not hurt, unlike the ones of his youth...

 

Before his heart had too much of a chance to settle, Quistis smoothed down her now-opened bodice, which now hung enticingly over her chest and opened down to past her navel. Drawing her fingertips over her silky skin, she spoke again like nothing had ever happened.

 

“As I was saying, your beloved will gasp or stutter when desire overwhelms her. She will breathe towards a teasing touch like she lives for it, or lose her breath entirely when love lights her imagination. Even the most well-bred woman cannot hide these signs from her true lover.”

 

“Understood,” said Auron, attentive and even amused despite this literal perversion of his education. “To the eye, then?”

 

“Indeed. Now, your beloved may not meet your gaze when you two are alone, most likely out of fear.”

 

“Fear?”

 

“Fear that you will find her desire unseemly.”

 

“ _More like unrealistic,”_ Auron thought. His scarring was not confined to his face, and besides that he was still old.

 

“Assure her that it is not,” said Quistis, and took a deep breath. The part of her bodice that cupped her breasts swelled apart, flirting with revealing the truly indecent. Auron could not help but stare, a part of his mind willing that the fabric would just go the natural route and disappear. Quistis smiled. “Yes. Look at her like that. Like you can scarcely believe the loveliness she shares only with you.”

 

“ _And how many have you shared yours with?”_ Auron couldn't help but wonder, glancing up at Quistis's face. The firelight through her unbound hair threw her expression into ever-moving shadows, nearly making her face look masklike. A part of his spirit cooled somewhat, but the part of his brain that still worked kicked it for foolishness. He was not here for a fantasy of Quistis being his and his alone (though that was certainly nice to imagine). He was here for a lesson and needed to stay focused. If what Quistis was telling him was true, then what he would leave with was far more than what he would leave behind.

 

“Never lose that look,” said Quistis, lifting her hair away from her shoulders and making her bodice pull even more teasingly apart without showing everything. A glimmer of light across her stomach made Auron look more closely and he realized with mixed disappointment and relief that she was wearing something underneath her dress. After thirty-five years of celibacy, the looming reality of being alone with a naked woman was equal parts arousing and terrifying. A bit of delay would not be unwelcome, even though the stirring in his blood argued otherwise. Rather than coldly ignoring the urges as he had done in the past, Auron took a deep breath and settled more into his chair. With the brandy slowly loosening his joints and the fact that he had more of Quistis's measure—intelligent, playful, and professional despite her profession—Auron relaxed enough to enjoy the rising feelings, which took on a certain headiness now that they were inspired by something other than imagination.

 

“If her breath should not highlight her desires, you will be able to see what she enjoys,” said Quistis, making Auron shift a bit at the thought. “You should look at her when she trembles for you, or melts into your grasp. Similarly, note what makes her flinch away or simply bores her. These may change from time to time, but there should remain a few constants that only years of intimacy will impart to you. As long as you continue to look, you will know them as they happen.”

 

“Understood.” Something a bit odd occurred to Auron then. “I understand the principles behind the breath and the eye, but the waist...?”

 

“Power comes from the waist, does it not?”

 

“Yes, but the power to strike and move.”

 

Quistis chuckled. “The power to create life comes from the waist too. The great energies that swell and churn and flower there provide the energy for life and love.”

 

Auron mulled over this, but not deeply. This was because Quistis was turning around and somehow managing to shrug out of her loosened gown, making it slide down her creamy shoulders, her back, and yes, her slim waist in a smooth and slow fall, the colors of the setting sun gleaming as firelight touched her skin. Now Auron saw more of the odd glimmer he'd noticed before; it was a corselet made of gleaming lace just a few shades lighter than Quistis's skin, giving the effect that she was dusted with fine diamonds. As the dress kept slipping down, garter straps made of the same fabric connected to silk stockings that were a mere suggestion of fabric. His mouth went dry. Somehow this was more stimulating than outright nudity, which was embarrassing but entirely natural. Those clothes were made for the sole purpose of highlighting how devastatingly beautiful their wearer was. Auron had never realized that women could have such long and shapely legs in reality. Nor that a woman's hips really were that round out of skirts, and that the trim figure made by much-lamented corseting had some basis in fact. And Quistis's breasts, so maddeningly hidden before, were still concealed now but in mere scraps fabric that looked as solid as smoke.

 

With a slow, purposeful sensuality, Quistis stepped out of the fallen folds of her gown and smiled when she saw something from him; maybe just the reflection of her beauty in his dark glasses, maybe something else. Auron half-expected she'd approach because hadn't she said something about a practice part of this lesson? But instead Quistis sat back down in her chair, knees primly together and turned to the side, and removed her long black gloves with a mysterious little smile on her face. Light gleamed over the corselet as she breathed, her chest rising and falling with a verve he hadn't noticed before. Auron realized with a bit of a jolt that he could tell that Quistis liked her job, or at least this part of it. As the gloves fell to the floor, Quistis slid her hands over her silk-clad thighs, making light ripple along the fabric in a distracting kind of way. She was close enough that Auron could touch her just by reaching out, but he had the feeling he was not supposed to yet. They weren't even halfway through the 'lesson' if they were truly going to follow the Four Signs.

 

“The waist is also referred to as 'the furnace', is it not?”

 

“Now how do you know that?” Auron asked, once again amused and concerned that she knew so much of how the Yevon monks trained. Quistis chuckled.

 

“Do you want a real answer?”

 

“I... Uhh...” Auron had to seriously think about that. “No. I don't.”

 

“ _Because if it turns out she learned it from anyone I know, I'm not sure I could ever face them again... Not that I see anyone from those days anyway, but it would be better if the memories were not... Awkward.”_

 

“Good. So, the waist is known as 'the furnace', yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it takes the energy of the lungs...” Auron trailed off, stunned, because as soon as he'd started speaking, Quistis had started... Well... Touching herself. Skimming the curves and peaks of her breasts, pulling lightly against the lace cups of the corselet. She was looking at him too, her head slightly inclined in a parody of modesty with her eyes alight with interest. It was incredibly and overwhelmingly distracting.

 

“Yes? Go on.”

 

“The lungs and... The... Stomach...” Auron swallowed as Quistis smoothed her palm down her lean torso, breathing at the touch in such a way that she seemed to swell with pleasure. And her hand kept going down, passing her navel and then lower to brush over her lap and down her leg again.

 

“And what else?”

 

“The...”

 

“Yes?”

 

“The heart,” said Auron, and shuddered a disbelieving breath as Quistis drew her hands up and started to unfasten the thin line of hooks that went down the center of her corselet. She dipped her gaze to focus on the task, allowing Auron to look all he wanted as she revealed her softest curves inch by inch, the whisper-like fabric fading in importance the more it was removed. The part of his brain that still managed to work in the face of this onslaught sent up a flush of guilt like an emergency flare. This much seduction had to be indecent. And indecent was wrong. He should leave before things reached a tipping point and...

 

And what?

 

Soiled his soul forever? Auron did not believe the soul was such a fragile thing, especially not after all he'd been through. And Braska certainly wasn't any less of a man that he'd been before marrying Rina. In fact, 'soiling his soul by consorting with the heathen' had made him a better man. Auron felt the same too.

 

Then what was left? Impropriety? These things were supposed to take place between man and wife, yet Auron knew very well that few people truly lived by this supposed rule. Jecht certainly ran around like a wild thing and it seemed to do him no harm. In fact, he was much more easygoing after seeing a 'friend' or two. So what was really wrong with having the action without the ceremony, particularly if there were no illusions on either side?

 

“ _You'll never be the same,”_ whispered that little part of his brain in desperation. Yet just that thought made him grit his teeth. Being the same for the past ten years had not been a good thing. He'd known that every single moment too, but had never seriously tried to do anything different. He was done being the same man he'd been for the past ten years.

 

Objections defeated, Auron took a deep breath and felt his vague guilt evaporate in the heat of his increasing desire. With the temptation in his blood was thickening his veins and hardening in his hips, Auron leaned forward to reach out and touch—

 

“Kindly remain seated,” said Quistis, her eyes flicking up to meet his before he had even lifted his hand. “The lesson is not yet complete.”

 

Auron looked hungrily at her near-naked form, her unbound hair, the wanton flush gleaming across her cheeks. The base part of him pointed out that rushing things would just be getting his money's worth earlier rather than later. Auron licked his dry lips, unconsciously gripping the armrests of his chair. Quistis watched him, her hands pausing over the last hooks of her corselet. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something with the stillness of a deer that had suddenly been spotted by a predator. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, a kind of horror shot through Auron's stomach. What was he thinking?

 

“ _I could leap on her, true. But what kind of man am I if I cannot honor a request to_ sit still?”

 

Auron sat back in his chair, gripping the armrests more tightly now for real shame weighing him down. When his strength came back, he _should_ leave.

 

Yet Quistis's still smile softened, becoming something undeniably genuine. She undid the last few hooks and let the corselet drop to the floor too, disengaging it from the stockings with quick motions he barely noticed. Her bared breasts were as perfect as any shaped by a loving sculptor, their points pink and perked though the room was quite warm. When Quistis circled them with the tips of her fingers, Auron saw her shiver slightly and lick her lips, a little smile curving them into enticing bows. Then Quistis ran her hands over her thighs again, smiling with growing anticipation, and Auron nearly choked for breath when she set her hands on her knees and slowly began to _pull them apart._ Aside from her silk stockings, she was entirely naked. Now thoughts of leaving were faint indeed, crowded out by lust and wild curiosity.

 

“Now,” she murmured, her voice a whisper over the thundering pulse in Auron's ears. “Where do the combined energies of the lungs, the stomach, and the heart go?”

 

This insufferable little tease! She surely had to know how difficult it was to concentrate now. Gritting his teeth with frustration, Auron muttered, “The furnace. The waist.”

 

“Yes. Do you know another name for the waist?”

 

“I...” Oh _hell_ , what was she thinking now? “I couldn't even...”

 

“The sea of life,” said Quistis, pulling her hands back before he could see anything forbidden. Disappointment nearly stole his breath away but instead Auron sucked his breath over his teeth as Quistis dragged her fingertips down her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and past her waist, leaving reddening trails that Auron's hands ached to retrace. He had never wanted to touch anyone so badly as right now, not even in the depths of his most intense desires for Rina. Hypnotized, he felt like he was falling into Quistis's words as she murmured, “As all rivers flow to the ocean, the energies of desire flow to the waist... Or rather, somewhere below it. Would you like to see?”

 

“Yes.” There was no question about it. He was _ready_ , in more ways than one, to see what she kept hinting at. Auron groaned quietly when Quistis set her hands on her knees and pulled them apart again, slowly but not shyly in the least. Light gleamed off her silk stockings but barely skimmed between her legs, shadowing the seat of her femininity in maddening mystery even as Quistis pressed her knees open and held them there. Then before Auron could even think to complain, she slid down in her seat and lifted her hips, making the firelight suddenly rush over her bare torso and gleam with promise across soft curls of darker blonde hair and the wet cleft underneath. Auron swore again. Or thanked Yevon. He was not particularly cognizant of the noise that came out of his mouth, only that it adequately expressed his aching disbelief.

 

“And now, for the final part of the observation...”

 

Auron groaned aloud. She was going to _kill_ him at this rate! He was going to die strung up on the gallows of desire, and he felt like he was walking up the steps as Quistis licked her fingertips and then began touching herself again, this time with a growing speed and enthusiasm that made Auron grip the chair rests so hard that they creaked. She started gasping first, little trembles shivering through her skin with every caress and gentle squeeze of her breasts. Her first moan was soft but a drawn-out shudder as she pressed her fingers down her stomach and along her inner thigh, drawing long and restless circles that moved closer to her upthrust hips. Auron could almost see what was about to happen but still could not believe it when Quistis started touching herself _there_ , right where he could see her, where he could see everything, and his thwarted desires climbed to a dangerous tautness as Quistis's middle fingertip grazed and then disappeared into the cleft between her legs. She moaned again, louder, her chest heaving with growing urgency, and looked at him from beneath her lashes with a heat that made Auron nearly swear again. When she met his gaze, she smiled and laughed a little.

 

“Have you ever seen a spirit leave a living body?”

 

“No,” Auron said breathlessly, his entire being stretched tight with need. “Please—”

 

“You're about to.”

 

“Let me—”

 

“Shh,” she murmured, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Pay attention. This is going to be the most useful thing you learn. Look here. Lean down. Yes, like that.”

 

“I am reaching the limits of my patience,” he informed her, doing as she said. She correctly detected he was going mad rather actually becoming angry and laughed.

 

“I know. And you've done very well. But if you don't learn this, then everything until now was just... Fun.”

 

“For _you,”_ he said severely, and then swore an oath as Quistis pulled her nether lips apart with light touches of both hands, exposing something that Auron could not rightly describe as anything he had ever seen before. Yet he knew without question it was the definition of intimate and shook with the significance of what he was seeing, especially when he saw a deep shudder go throughout Quistis's entire body, even rippling through her hair, as she gently tapped something that looked like a small pink pearl atop the flower of her womanhood.

 

“This will give as much pleasure to your beloved as can be endured by the human body,” she said breathlessly, and Auron nearly stared at her in disbelief. “It is _very_ delicate. And because it is so tender, the lightest touch will be enough to stoke the flames within. And just like building a fire, it is far from effective to simply throw a log on and hope something catches. Patience is key. Start with, hmm... Kindling.”

 

Quistis quickly brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers again. Then she began to circle around that pink nub, gasping and shaking with an undisguised pleasure that would have brought Auron to his knees if he had been standing. He could feel the pleasure rising off her as quickly and powerfully as the tide under a full moon, and like the waves of the ocean, the realization of what was going on stole his feet from under him, drowned him, rolled him and pulled him under with its force. Auron had never in all his life imagined that such intense pleasure could happen for women, because how could it without a, well...? But it was happening. It was _definitely_ happening. He could tell from Quistis's growing volume of moans, from the uncontrolled jerking and shaking that was starting to pulse through her hips, and how the deliberate circling became harder and rougher, slicking up and down her womanhood with an alarming violence considering what she'd said about tenderness and delicacy. Auron barely noticed her licking the finger pads of her other hand until she reached down and slid two fingers inside herself with shocking suddenness, making a scream of ecstasy burst from her throat. He couldn't see much of the exact motions she was doing now, but he couldn't care. Quistis had her eyes tightly shut, her mouth gasping and open, her body bucking against the chair as whatever she was doing edged towards their peak. Auron leaned forward unconsciously, panting like he could breathe in her pleasure and make it his own as Quistis cried out again, her head snapping back and her chest lifting like something was being pulled out of it. Auron groaned in understanding and unimaginable envy as Quistis nearly slid out of the chair to land on the floor, her legs shaking uncontrollably. The trembling seemed to last a rather long time but did nothing to ease the raging in his blood. At last Quistis heaved a great relaxed sigh and wriggled back into a secure seat, a dreamy look softening her face.

 

“Well,” she said breathily. “Now you know what it looks like when a woman is truly enjoying herself. And so, that's it for observation. Are you ready for practice?”

 

“Does that mean I can stand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Auron immediately released his grip on the armrests and shot to his feet. Quistis laughed loud and heartily as she stood up too, a good bit slower and a little more uncoordinated.

 

“I look forward to your enthusiasm,” she purred, a world of offered pleasures gleaming in her eyes. “Now if you'll please follow me to the boudoir proper... And get you out of those clothes.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

A cleverly hidden door in the back of the parlor led to a somewhat overdressed fantasy of a bedroom, with everything being done in textures that invited touch and the lighting deliberately soft and low. The air was heady with the smell of tuberose and vanilla, wafting from vases full of coral-colored roses arranged in thick bouquets in order of bloom. In the center of the room was a four-post bed with braided cords on all the posts and set with gleaming ruby-colored sheets. More braided cords on the walls turned out to be whips and cats-o-nine-tails, though Auron didn't pay too much attention to those. He was too heated to feel anything but anticipation in these otherwise very suggestive surroundings, nor he could he look away from the beautiful, naked woman who was leading him by the hand to that very bed and pulling him toward her with a sweet smile. Arousal pounding in his veins kept him from flinching too much when she removed his dark glasses and set them on a nightstand beside the bed. He flinched a little more when she started to unwind the white muffler he habitually wore over the lower half of his face, the better to hide his scar with. Aside from Braska, Jecht, and their children, no one had seen his face uncovered in quite some time. Auron braced for a scream or at the very least, a gasp. Instead Quistis cupped the curve of his jaw with one hand and looked at him tenderly.

 

“You may not believe me, but you are quite handsome,” she said, making Auron scoff a little even as his old fears faded a little. “And you exude an air of tragic mystery that many women will find appealing.”

 

“My experience is that most people find me frightening.”

 

“Well, not being able to see your face has some to do with that,” said Quistis, but so lightly that Auron could not be offended. She wasn't wrong, in any case. People feared what they couldn't see, be it monsters in the shadows or the expression of the silent man across the street. Though Auron didn't exactly mind not being bothered, either; before the accident, there had been quite a lot of hopeful young ladies flitting about his periphery and the attention had made him uncomfortable.

 

Quistis started sliding his coat from his shoulders, her gaze falling in a parody of modesty. Her eyes lit up when she noticed the red lining inside, which was the last of the old robe Auron had once worn in his old warrior days, yet was still a much finer, stronger material than anything he'd owned since. His good vest, the one he was wearing now, was made of the same stuff too, and Quistis ran her hands over it with a gleam of interest. Auron shivered a bit even though her touch was very warm. He could feel her heat through the fabric, even with his scars.

 

“This looks like Macalania silk,” she mused as the coat slipped from his arms and down onto the floor. “Do all warrior monks wear such fine fabric?”

 

“When they reach the rank of Guardian.”

 

“So you used to guard the priests and maesters,” she mused, unbuttoning his vest. Auron didn't know what to do in the face of her confident motion. The only thing he could take off her were her silk stockings, but he rather liked the look of them on her, so he didn't want to. Yet...?

 

“How lucky for them, to have your protection,” Quistis purred. It should have sounded artificial except her eyes gleamed and she shifted a little closer to him, temporarily stunning Auron as she came close enough for him to pick up the scent of vanilla and tuberose from her hair. So that was why the calling card had smelled as such.

 

“I'm not as fit as I used to be,” he felt obligated to inform her.

 

“Anyone can be fit. Only a few can be strong.” Quistis slid her hands up over his stomach and chest, making his vest to go the way of his coat with a well-practiced motion. If she noticed the roughness of his plain shirt, she said nothing of it. Auron was glad, yet she seemed to be bothering with unnecessary things. He was aching for some kind of action, especially considering that her well-formed and very bare breasts were right before his eyes. She glanced up at him and smiled when she caught him looking.

 

“Go on,” she murmured, starting to tug his shirt from his belt. “This _is_ practice.”

 

As though he had forgotten! Auron had enough presence of mind not to grab her like he had exactly one thought rattling in his head, but he was sorely tempted to as he raised his hands. His courage failed him before he reached his intended targets, but he remembered how Quistis had touched her stomach and sides and on a whim, tried to do the same thing. She was so soft and smooth. He felt like his callused hands would catch on her somehow, like snagging delicate fabric. Quistis hummed pleasantly, her eyelids flickering over her warming gaze.

 

“Is... Is this...?” What was he supposed to do, specifically?

 

“Now, what kind of instructor simply _gives_ you the answers?” Quistis asked, still soft with amusement. “Do as you like. I'll let you know if you're going astray.”

 

Auron grumbled. Age did not diminish his distaste for uncertainty, only made him more understanding about its inevitability. Yet this was far from the most onerous exercise he had ever applied himself to and hesitantly he drew his hands upwards to skim the sides of Quistis's breasts. At once he was rewarded by a louder, sweeter sigh that fanned the flames in his blood. Meanwhile she had pulled his shirt loose and was moving on to the buttons down the center of it, and despite the moment, Auron tensed up again. The lights here were low, but not low enough that his scars would escape notice. He nearly said, “Don't touch that,” even as he still recognized the silly vanity of keeping clothes on now _._

 

But then Quistis dropped her hands from his shirt. She seemed to have quite an intuition about what he was feeling, but of course that was why she was who and where she was. Instead she took Auron by his belt, steered him up to the bed, and then gave him a light push so he knew to sit. Absently he noticed the mattress was the softest he'd ever encountered, but the majority of his attention was taken up by Quistis climbing onto the bed with him, gliding her silk-clad legs along his until she was straddling his lap. She was just the right height to face him when sitting on him like this, and Auron found himself mesmerized by the subtle sparkle in her eyes, the flush across her cheeks, and the point of her tongue licking just barely over her lower lip. Damned if he knew why, but that last movement made something like flame curl up from his stomach and spread, compelling him to lean forward and press his lips to hers. Auron did not flatter himself as any kind of kisser (like everything else tonight, it was a subject he had no experience with) and for a moment Quistis seemed surprised. Then with a happy hum, she kissed him back and the flames within grew stronger.

 

He'd had no idea until the moment that his lips could feel anything other than temperature, but Quistis was doing things with hers that somehow, incredibly, pulled focus away from the fact she was naked in his lap and that his hands were resting on the slope between her waist and behind. She nipped at his lower lip with a touch like flower petals, the little point of wetness on hers transferring something like an electric spark. He gasped at the contact and found himself with more, Quistis gently parting his lips with hers to kiss him in a way that had always seemed so terribly indecent until now. He marveled at the pliant facility of her tongue even as the motions coaxed higher functions to leave his brain, allowing base physicality to take central importance. Auron tried to kiss back, whether to mimic Quistis's movements or capture more of them he did not know. She encouraged with a smile he felt rather than saw and pulled him closer with a playful grip at the back of his head, leaning backwards at the same time so he had to hold her more tightly. Now the unseemly beast that had nearly leapt out of him earlier was clawing at the surface again, especially when the loosely sewn buttons on his shirt fell open from some subtle shift of motion and Auron felt the press of Quistis's chest against his own, like a hot iron except with giddy pleasure instead of pain. Was it alright to do more now? Could he just...?

 

“ _She is naked in your lap with her legs around your waist and her tongue down your throat!”_ Auron could almost hear Jecht screaming, and the rude intrusion into his thoughts made Auron both choke and laugh before he could stop himself. Unfortunately that seemed to give the inner Jecht more fuel to bellow, _“What else are you waiting for?! A big red sign all lit up with—”_

 

Quistis pulled back. Auron's confusion cut off the mental sputtering, but instead of a rebuke for not being fully present, Quistis smiled and shifted in his lap, sending a shock of sensation zinging through his hips and legs. She wasn't touching that part of him, not exactly, but the fabric of his pants was getting very restrictive and Quistis seemed like she knew how to use that effect to further madden him.

 

“It's time to put your observations to practice,” she murmured. “Do you remember everything we talked about?”

 

“Yes...” Though he hadn't done much talking, really, he'd just seen some things he'd never be able to forget.

 

“Good. There are a few places that would be best to concentrate on.” Quistis leaned back, resting her weight her hands and bracing against his knees. It put nearly the entirety of her lovely self within easy reach, though suddenly faced with the spectacle of that much naked woman nearly made Auron lock up. Nearly. A lifelong awkwardness about nudity and lust was not putting up anything more than a token objection at this point, and it was more uncertainty and inexperience that kept Auron's hands on Quistis's hips and nowhere else. Thank Yevon she was being so patient. Auron did not want to think about if he'd tried to have this experience with someone who was not so thorough a teacher, nor someone who would not realize that he literally had no idea what to do.

 

“Kissing is very nice, of course,” mused Quistis. “Especially when it is not restricted to just the lips. The neck is a good place to start.”

 

Auron had a sudden flash from many, many years ago, before he'd realized that the warmth that surged inside him whenever he saw Rina was _not_ the desire to shake some sense into her heathen brain. He'd been out of the mission for some reason or another and came back to find the back door ajar. Thoughts of burglars made him step quietly inside, so quietly in fact that when he went to check on the herb closet to make sure none of the valuable reagents had been stolen, he'd instead walked right in on Braska and Rina kissing with the same fervor that filled their debates. It was a good thing he had been trained never to drop his sword because otherwise he would given himself away in pure shock, which escalated into skin-crawling awkwardness when he saw Braska—back then, the most pious and proper Father Braska!—licking and laving at the base of Rina's neck and shoulder, like he was a dog or a wolf that wanted to eat her. And she had clearly liked it, gasping into his touch and rocking herself against him, one leg hooked over his hip to show just how close she wanted him. When Braska had started pulling up her skirt, Auron had managed to back away without being detected and consequently gone for a run around the neighborhood. Several of them. And for weeks afterward, Auron would open the herb closet with the point of his sword to look inside first before going in. The memory of what they had been doing and the obvious passion between them still sent a surge of envious lust through Auron's veins, but that was not the most important part of remembering that particular incident today...

 

Quistis actually gasped when Auron leaned down and started kissing her neck with the same kind of attention she'd lavished on his lips. He couldn't bring himself to bite her or lick her, but from the way Quistis suddenly started trembling and squirming, it didn't matter. A part of Auron still worried that he was doing something wrong or disgusting but then Quistis grasped the back of his head and held him there, sighing happily.

 

“Oh, that's very nice.”

 

Well, alright then. So it wasn't just Rina who had liked such things. Auron kept going, focusing on one spot in particular that made Quistis nearly squeal when he touched it. There was a sudden increase of pressure against his neck and head as Quistis trusted her weight to her grip and used her other hand to pull up one of his, firmly settling it on one of her breasts and giving his fingers a squeeze so he knew without question what she wanted. She was so helpful. So very, very helpful...

 

With little gasps, moans, and occasionally pulling either his hands or lips to where she wanted them, Quistis made it very clear in no uncertain terms that touches felt best and what were merely amusing. Encouraged by the frequency of her physical and vocal assurances, Auron let himself experiment with pressure and the occasional different touch; a light bite or a harder squeeze when her softness started to drive him mad, or a featherlight touch down her spine and the back of the head to make her shiver. Mindful of what she had said about all rivers leading to the sea, Auron kept moving his attentions lower and lower, pausing over areas that made Quistis especially wriggly (though quite unexpectedly he found out that she was ticklish and had to resist taking advantage just so he'd have the upper hand for once).

 

At some point in time they ended up lying down on the bed, the better for their balance and the easier on Auron's neck since Quistis was not hanging her entire weight on him. Despite their positions, Auron was aware he had not mastered the situation. Not when she could so easily interrupt his motions with little touches of her own; a clever kiss on his neck, tracing his ear with the point of her tongue, unexpected brushes of her fingertips below his navel that made him ache for something more. He was aware she was testing him, but it didn't bother him at all. Despite the headiness of desire and the newness of the situation, it seemed strangely familiar too. Something Auron missed about the Temple life was the camaraderie of sparring because there was something about the silent communication of movement that connected him to something greater than himself. How odd that he was feeling that sensation again now in such a different setting! And more than that, he felt inexplicably safe. Much like the practice ground, nothing bad would happen to him here. The next time Quistis touched the buttons on his shirt, Auron murmured something that he hoped signaled assent and heard a breathless little chuckle in response. When she loosened the garment and started to pull it off over his head, Auron closed his eyes and trusted she would not hurt him.

 

She did not.

 

Oh, she didn't ignore the scars. As she let the shirt fall off the side of the bed and to the floor, Quistis traced the margins of the old wounds with her fingertips as Auron continued refining the actions of giving pleasure, the better to distract himself from unwelcome thoughts. The slow but fascinated way she touched him made Auron shiver with new gratitude, further pushing the thoughts away. Physically it was the oddest feeling, the warmth of her hand flickering in and out like candleflame when she moved living skin to dull and back again. The skin around the scars seemed hyperaware of her touch, drawing prickling parallels as he sensed her heat moving over skin that no longer felt anything but pressure. He risked looking at her expression and was stunned by what he saw. Rather than disgust or even well-hidden shock, Quistis's eyes were heavy-lidded, her cheeks rosy with desire, her lips wet from kisses and parted from soft and light panting. Even the sheltered youth he'd been so long ago would not have been able to mistake this as anything but real wanting. For some reason his throat locked up as Quistis traced the edge of one very long, jagged scar that cut down from nearly his collarbone to the top of his hip.

 

“Does this hurt?” She asked softly.

 

“No. It's just ugly.”

 

“Not to me,” said Quistis, her eyes alight with interest. She seemed to be holding her breath with real desire, which was so bizarre that Auron nearly pulled away. He didn't like to be feared by strangers, but he didn't like being stared at like a bug under a jar either.

 

“Why?” Maybe her answer would settle the shiver in his guts.

 

“Because perfection is boring,” she said, now brushing her fingertips down his chest and stomach. “Character and strength are very appealing. As well as actual passion, instead of a pale and powdered play at it.”

 

“But this is...” Auron didn't know how to say what he wanted without sounding like a churl. It had never once occurred to him that courtesans might not always play at being in love, and the idea that Quistis might truly fancy him made him nervous. Not uncomfortable, however; a thrill nearly struck him breathless, his vanity surging at the notion that this beautiful flawless young woman actually desired him. Humility forced him to remind her of certain facts. “I am old. And disfigured.”

 

“You are entirely too worried about how you appear,” said Quistis, a bit of her archness coming back. “Rest assured, your taste and touch are never things you need to be concerned about. And I am _especially_ fond of the way you look at me.”

 

He blushed at her bald language. “Any man would look at you as I do.”

 

“Yet their gazes fail to inspire or delight.” Quistis's eyes darkened slightly as her mask of nearly inhuman beauty slipped, and the glitter of interest in her large blue eyes turned to something like a smolder as she reached up and touched his face, curving her hand around his cheek like she had at the beginning. But then she had still glowed with the aura of a master. Now she seemed just a trifle shy. “You should know that this evening is not how the first interview with a new gentleman usually proceeds.”

 

“It's not?” came out of Auron's mouth before he could stop himself from sounding so uncouth.

 

“No,” said Quistis, now a touch of humor coloring her voice. “During the first interview, we spend the time seeing if we suit one another. Engaging the company of a courtesan is not unlike arranging a marriage, save that there is no line to perpetuate nor honor to uphold. There is only the sweetness of courtship before all the obligations that come after consummation.”

 

“But it is not sweet for you, is it?” Auron asked, feeling only a little awkward for voicing what he had been thinking all night. “It's... Well, it's your job.”

 

“Precisely.” She seemed relieved for some reason. “I play at being in love with many. But I do not believe it, which is so easy most of the time that it never even enters my mind. But tonight...” A breathless little sigh escaped her lips as she ducked her head slightly, her gaze becoming intimate in a way it hadn't been before. “It has been a long time since I've truly been excited.”

 

Why? Why? _Why?_ Auron stared dumbfounded into Quistis's eager eyes, at her sweet and soft lips, and he could feel the welcome warmth rising from her, unencumbered by clothing or propriety. The maybe-truth of what she might be saying battered against years of feeling hideous down to his core, where the feelings lay like anchors for everything he did in his waking life. But the anchors were not as heavy and permanent as he'd always thought. They had already moved earlier this evening when he had chosen to relax and enjoy what was happening rather than be dragged under by the ill thoughts that had plagued him for the past ten years.

 

“ _I don't want to drown anymore,”_ he thought as he firmly pushed the doubts and lingering hatreds away and once again chose to believe that everything was fine. The more Auron really thought about it, he did not think Quistis was lying about finding him interesting. An accomplished courtesan would not be rich or have many clients if she immediately skipped to carnal pleasures. Which then begged the question of why she was telling him all this... Perhaps it had been a long time since she'd truly been honest, too. It was a sad life, if he lingered much on the thought, but the idea that he might be helping her as much as she was helping him made Auron feel strangely more relaxed. This _was_ like the sparring ground after all.

 

The last of his clothes eventually made their way to the floor around the same time that most unpleasant thoughts evaporated from the sweet heat of Quistis's lissome form underneath his. Quistis's look turned sly. Auron had just enough time to wonder what she might be thinking before she wriggled about to grasp one of his hands and then pull it down between their bodies. When he brushed through curls of hair a thunderbolt of understanding made Auron stare, but he was still shocked into cursing when Quistis deliberately pressed his fingertips into the soft slickness below. He saw a shudder go through her too, but it ended with a smile rather than an oath.

 

Remembering what he had seen Quistis doing by the light of the fire (he was sure he'd never forget!), he drew his fingers through her silky wet warmth, the indescribably soft and sensitive flesh both mysterious and enticing. Quistis sighed happily and then gasped, a little shock popping through her as he touched the only thing that could elicit that kind of reaction. He feared accidental hurt, but she smiled at him and murmured encouragement, so he started again. He couldn't see what he was doing with his hand, but he could see the effect on Quistis and could not look away as she started taking deeper breaths, the rosy flush of her cheeks enlivening the rest of her body, and her eyelashes starting to flutter. Auron adored the sight even as his desires threatened to override his good sense, but thank everything good and holy, Quistis felt the same fire he did. She opened her eyes and repositioned herself, gliding expertly over the dark satin sheets to put her legs on either side of his. Then Quistis wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, somehow even more masterfully than before. Every overheard comparison of infatuation to drowning suddenly made sense in a visceral way he'd always feared to know before.

 

“Well done,” Quistis whispered, her voice intoxicating with desire as Auron tried to refocus and breathe. “Full marks for a very quick study. Would you like to take the real test now?”

 

A soundless, painless explosion somewhere at the back of his head galvanized Auron into immediate action, making Quistis laugh low with delight. There was just a little more fumbling—positioning, mostly, thankfully not hard with such a, well... _Definite_ structure—before Auron finally experienced just what the hell so many people completely lost their minds over. Literally nothing else in his entire life had prepared him for a lover's heat, her wetness, and the pressure! God, the pressure! Auron had always been alarmed by descriptions of a man feeling pulled in, but now he couldn't do anything but surrender to the sensation. Somehow Quistis was holding onto him like she couldn't bear to let him go. And too, there was the near-searing shock of a hot bath with all the physical relief of it surging and falling away again. It was the indulgent sweet stickiness of warm honey whetting an appetite he hadn't known he had. And Quistis panting underneath him, her hands digging into his shoulders as she met his motions with her own, was electrifying. The connective shock of being coupled to another person while the physical was raging out of control felt like an out-of-body experience with its intensity. Like a pot on the verge of boiling over, Auron's movements became more violent and uncontrolled, his hips moving with a monomaniacal instinct alone until he became aware of Quistis pushing back against him, bracing against his legs in such a way that he couldn't move as much as he wanted. When he looked at her in bafflement, she chuckled.

 

“Slow down,” she said, which made Auron shake off his fog to focus.

 

“I'm sorry. Is it painful?”

 

“Not at all. But I want to actually _feel_ everything, so move more slowly.” Her eyes twinkled when she said, “Your beloved will certainly appreciate it.”

 

Auron nodded, though the idea of slowing down at all seemed more than a little frustrating. Fortunately when he complied, the pounding pleasure that had so overwhelmed him before now drew out like taffy, sweet and breathless in anticipation of it finally breaking. Quistis shivered and tilted her head back a little, sighing as the pace relaxed. It was so incredible how beautiful she was, her hair brighter and silkier than the sheets underneath her, her flawless skin nearly glowing against the rich fabric. She reacted to every motion no matter how small or subtle; a hitch of the breath, a restless roll of her hips when she wanted more of whatever he was doing, and sometimes a sharp shudder that rippled through her skin to make her pert and round breasts tremble with motion. Auron could not look away. There was no reservation in him now, just instinct and enough presence of mind to make him want to pull out this enjoyment for as long as possible. But it was not a static proportion. As time went on, the needs of physicality started to surge once more. Especially when Quistis drew her legs up from his sides and hooked them a bit higher than his waist, making Auron swear as something about the changed angle made it seem like he could go even deeper into someone already amazing.

 

“Go,” she whispered, eyes alight with excitement. “As much as you want.”

 

“But what about—”

 

Quistis wriggled and once again Auron swore as something changed. Somehow the pressure was even more intense, burning up the edges of his consideration with a selfish biological desire.

 

“Trust me to know myself,” she told him, a little comforting and a little tartly. “Now just _go,_ and show me what all those years of pent-up passion feel like.”

 

Auron groaned. She didn't know what she was saying. What he wanted to do was give in to the urge to just _pound_ like he could knock away every past moment of loneliness. Like he could literally beat away every bad thought and every moment of agony to just live in joy for a little while. He couldn't imagine that it wouldn't hurt her, yet Quistis _would_ know herself, wouldn't she? She was not a shy little girl experiencing her very first time. She was not unwilling either, not that he could tell. All the normal considerations about 'hurting' women during the act did not truly apply here once Auron thought about it...

 

So... Maybe...

 

“Please,” Quistis breathed, and that decided him. If she was asking for this, she was surely alright.

 

“You have to let me know when to stop,” Auron sighed, bracing against the mattress. Quistis's shoulders were just under his wrists, keeping her firmly underneath him. She laughed, the sound light and full of just as much thick, sweet pleasure as he was feeling.

 

“You'll know when to stop,” chuckled Quistis. Something about her gaze challenged him not to stop too soon for _her._ Auron laughed a little breathlessly, half disbelief and half understanding. He had guessed correctly before and she had told him plainly even earlier; Quistis _liked_ this part of her job. Well, far be it from him to make her work unpleasant.

 

First he pressed just a little harder and a little faster, watching for any signs of pain or annoyance. Quistis's eyes flashed like she sensed his restraint but she didn't have enough breath to voice any discontent; she was moaning instead, sharp little things that grew louder like a bell sounding the start of her true pleasure. Her cries spurred him on, making him feel more reckless and forceful until the posts on the bed starting to thud against the wall, the braided cords tied underneath the finials tapping a beat after. His hands and knees nearly slipped against the satin sheets from the movements needed to wring as much pleasure as possible from every movement. Purely physical heat started to warm Auron's skin, making sweat bead on his forehead and underneath Quistis's hands as she held onto him, her fingertips digging into his shoulders like she wanted him closer, closer, closer... And she told him as much too, her cries a mixture of encouragement and pure physical joy that broke just a moment before his did, stealing his breath as she screamed out hers. The rolling shudders of her shaking underneath him, the sudden desperate clawing as she pulled him down against her, her breath hot and loud against his ear, it all mixed together with his own pleasure, stunning him into near insensibility for one perfect long moment of not thinking about anyone or anything at all.

 

Quistis recovered first, stroking his back and his hair once more as Auron shuddered out what truly did feel like at least two decades of repression. At the end, he felt as empty as a deflated balloon, although there was still a certain lightness in him that hadn't been there before. Auron pulled back slightly; he had collapsed at the peak of his pleasure but didn't want to crush Quistis while he caught his breath. Quistis smiled at him, looking as fond of him as anyone would want of their lover.

 

“How do you feel?” She asked softly. Auron nearly laughed but instead gave her question some serious thought.

 

“Good,” he said after a moment. “Very good. And relaxed.”

 

“ _Not more like a 'real man' or anything like that, but Braska was right that it was good to have a new experience.”_

 

“I'm relieved,” said Quistis, stroking the white streak along his temple. “I wouldn't want you to feel guilty or... Diminished, somehow.”

 

He looked at her oddly. “Is that a common reaction?”

 

“Sometimes people believe they _are_ their virginity, even if they wish to lose it,” said Quistis. Auron nodded in understanding. “I don't want you to leave thinking you've made a mistake.”

 

“No. I'll leave grateful.” Impulsively he kissed her forehead, tasting a little salt sheen of sweat there too.

 

Quistis sighed happily and nuzzled against his neck. It was a very comfortable position for him too. Auron relaxed and closed his eyes, the warmth and the loose relief in his limbs nearly lulling him to sleep before a soft chime of three notes sounded somewhere above his head. Quistis sighed and started to sit up, making Auron pull back.

 

“Is it time?” He asked, a bit surprised that two hours had gone by so quickly.

 

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, and sounded like she meant it. “Though technically that is the half-hour bell. It's meant to give you enough time to dress and have a drink.”

 

“I wouldn't mind another drink,” Auron mused, chuckling at the memory of dropping his first one everywhere.

 

“Then rest here a moment,” said Quistis, sliding gracefully out of bed. Without a hint of self-consciousness she walked towards the hidden door, looking at him saucily over her shoulder. “I'll be right back.”

 

Auron nodded and started dressing again. As he sorted his shoes and socks out of the pile made by his trousers, a flash of light caught his eye and he glanced up to see a mirror near the bed. It was positioned in such a way that someone could look and see what was happening to them (or what they were making happen to someone else), and Auron was both surprised and relieved that he hadn't noticed it earlier because the sudden embarrassment that overcame him would have surely knocked him out of his enjoyment. Since tonight seemed a night for facing his fears, he got off the bed and went up to the mirror to take a good hard look at himself.

 

Perhaps it was the low light or simply age, but the scars did not look as horrible as Auron remembered. They were still present, looking like frozen flames or an artist's depiction of smoke being pulled across his skin, but they were not the hideous tracks of half-healed red and dirty grey he remembered. He touched the deepest ones on his stomach, running his fingers along the sunken slashes and feeling the weird immediacy of pushing on his guts that had always disgusted him before. But now it was just a sensation like any other. And Quistis hadn't recoiled from touching them at all. Auron turned around to check one particular track that went up a bit around his side and back, and he nearly choked when he saw the scratches all over his skin. They didn't hurt, but god there were a lot of them.

 

The secret door opened and Quistis came back in with the decanter and this time, two glasses. Auron didn't ask where the second came from. She spotted him in front of the mirror and chuckled as she sat back down on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her in a ladylike way. 

 

“I thought you'd said you'd tell me if I hurt you,” said Auron, turning back to face her. She was still naked, but not as overwhelmingly distracting now that the boiling in his blood was a simmer. 

 

“Did you hear me say 'ouch'?”

 

“No, but...”

 

“Then there you have it,” said Quistis serenely, pouring a bit of brandy into one of the glasses. “Though I must ask, did I hurt _you?”_

 

“No. It's just...” Auron looked at his back again, silently awed that she had managed to maul him so thoroughly without his notice. It was a good thing he wasn't in the habit of strutting about with his shirt off like Jecht did, otherwise there would be no end of of questioning as to what had happened to him. Or maybe...Not.

 

“If you want them gone, I can have someone bring a healing draught.”

 

“No, please don't bother.” Auron instead came back to the bed as Quistis poured the second glass. “Actually, I was thinking that a certain friend of mine would probably lose his mind if he saw them.”

 

“Oh?” Quistis chuckled as he took one of the glasses without waiting to be served. “Jealous?”

 

“Wildly. He actually demands a full report.”

 

“Ahh. And what will you tell him?”

 

“That I had a wonderful time,” he returned, thinking of an earlier conversation.

 

Quistis blushed prettily. “I'm glad you were pleased.”

 

“It's more than just pleased,” said Auron, looking at Quistis contemplatively. He wasn't sure how to describe the subtle change inside him. It was more than simply not being a virgin; that was almost unimportant. It was more like... Seeing himself in Quistis's eyes felt like a truer reflection than the one _he_ saw in the mirror. He imagined flaws. She didn't see any. And that was... Nice. More than nice. Despite what she did for a living, it felt like Quistis had blessed him somehow and he felt just as clean and whole as he'd ever felt in his temple days.

 

Auron would have liked to linger over his drink, but was too conscious of time to really draw things out. Warm without and within, he dressed and as he settled the rosary on his belt once more, he had a thought. Quistis blinked when he broke the string and pulled off one of the beads. It was not as shocking as it looked. Many of the original 108 beads had fallen off over the years and Auron had simply kept knotting it shorter rather than replace virtues he no longer necessarily believed in. He gave her one of the larger ones which was made of stone rather than painted and so still had its rich blue color and shine.

 

“Do you know how one prays with a Yevonite rosary?”

 

“Every round a Praise, every narrow a Psalm, and a Hymn for the ones of sea-colored stone, for Yevon's might is as the ocean,” recited Quistis perfectly, though without anything like reverence. Auron decided then and there that she had been exposed to the Temple sometime in her young life, but why she was here instead of there would remain quite a mystery. Especially when she said, “This is a Principal, isn't it?”

 

“Yes. It signifies the end of the rosary. The end of prayer, when you should be full of righteousness and virtue.” Auron chuckled. “Since you now 'have' mine, it seemed appropriate.”

 

“Oh, you bad man,” Quistis laughed affectionately, nevertheless cradling the bead in one hand and touching it as gently as she might a mouse or other small, delicate creature.

 

“There's something else too,” he said, looking down at the ground as he slowly reknotted the old, worn string of beads. Quistis had the last one of the stone beads. The rest were all wood or bone and when they were lost, he would not miss them. “When you reach the Principal, you stop. And I don't feel stopped any more. So thank you.”

 

She didn't say anything. Auron retrieved his dark glasses and settled them on his face, but instead of winding his muffler thickly around the lower part of his face, he looped it loosely and enjoyed the lack of oppressive heat.

 

“It would please me greatly if you came back one day,” said Quistis softly, making Auron look at her in surprise. The words could have been a ploy for more money, except she was still looking at the Principal bead and brushing it with her fingertips. Why wasn't she meeting his eyes? “I will always accept your card.”

 

Auron didn't know what to say. In a perfect world, he would likely come back again because Quistis was more than just pleasant 'company'. Intimacy that had nothing to do with fornication now bonded them and he knew he'd never forget her. But... Money. So much money.

 

“I will be always be honored that you did so even once,” he said finally. Quistis glanced up at him then and the small smile she had eased the guilt in his chest. She really had been just trying to charm him.

 

“Be well,” she said, standing up and coming over to him. She smoothed his coat and vest in a wifely sort of way and then pecked him on the cheek, which made him chuckle. Especially when she looked at him with a little sparkle in her eye. “And if you do want more lessons, come back. There are any number of things I could teach you.”

 

Auron chuckled but was conscious enough to give no promises. Quistis didn't seem to mind. She gave him one more kiss—on the lips now, sweet enough to last through any number of dreams—and then took one of the pretty coral-colored roses from the vases ringing the room and tucked it into his lapel. It smelled like her—tuberose and vanilla, with a warmth he hadn't noticed before. When Auron looked at her questioningly, she just smiled and said nothing. Maybe she gave roses to everyone. He decided not to ask. It was easily the loveliest flower Auron had ever seen and certainly no bad souvenir.

 

The servant who had escorted him in was waiting in the parlor, looking like as impassive and impersonal as any servant in a well-running household might be, and escorted Auron out through a different hallway without question. It was clear that this strange and wonderful adventure was done, but he felt no regret about it. The scent of the rose in his lapel seemed to guard him against all the expected worries and doubts all the way home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story has been typed out. I will update it every week until it's done.


	4. Chapter 4

The rose went into its own little pot of dirt on Auron's windowsill garden, which up until now had only hosted cooking herbs. Careful watering every day did not drown it, and in a month's time it began sprouting new shoots and leaves. The petals dropped one by one, revealing delicate pink inner petals as the orange-colored outer ones fell away. It was a hardy thing despite Auron not realizing roses should be kept out of drafts, though when it finally began to bloom again, Auron was inexplicably disappointed that it was mostly a dark, solid pink color and that it had lost much of its—Quistis's—signature perfume. Yet at the same time it seemed to be a subtle reminder that their worlds were simply different and Auron did not stew upon the changes with bitterness. He might as well never have gone to Quistis if he were going to become 'stopped' once more.

 

By the time the rose began to bloom, several months had passed since Auron's experience at Le Jardin. With time and distance came some ease in talking about what had happened, though Jecht immediately complained that Auron never gave enough detail (and to his credit, Jecht wanted to know things like 'what did the inside of the place look like' 'did you see any other ladies' and 'what are they looking for in clients so I can send a card and not get kicked again'). With Braska it was easier to talk about the emotional developments, including telling his old friend the source of inexplicable attacks that Braska had sometimes witnessed and treated him for. Braska had looked troubled and been very quiet after that, but had thanked Auron for telling him how deeply Rina's death had affected him too. And Auron was not sure why he thought this, but when Braska began later walking out with a widow in the neighborhood whose daughter was already grown and gone, Auron thought his admission and Braska's renewed interest in courtship were related.

 

Jecht hit it on the head later when the two of them were tarring a fisherman's rowboat in exchange for some of the catch later. He could be full of a certain kind of wisdom when the braggadocio was out of him, even if it burst out at odd times. “He was using you as his excuse not to try.”

 

“Not to try courting? Why?”

 

“Because he kept saying he had to make sure _you_ were okay before he moved on,” said Jecht, rolling his eyes a bit. “I could tell it was hokum. I know better than most what it's like to lose your wife and not know what the hell you're doing. How much you miss her. How much you gotta fight to keep your head above water because you had no idea how much she was doing, especially with yer kid. But Braska never got that just because he couldn't have his _exact_ love didn't mean that he couldn't have love again at all.”

 

“He always said there was no point. That Rina was the love of his life.”

 

“Is his life over yet?” said Jecht with a weary annoyance. “Tch! He pisses me off sometimes. Damn jackass even got the gall to pretend like he's got it all together. Me, everyone knows I'm a mess. I don't hide it. Anyway, I think he realized he wasn't helping you as much as he told himself he was. So now he's got no excuse from going out, see?”

 

“I suppose.” Auron looked at Jecht a little askance. “So why haven't _you_ married again?”

 

“ 'Cause I was a shit husband and I ain't inflicting myself on anyone stupid enough to hope I'll be otherwise.” Jecht chuckled and said, “I got a lot of 'friends' and they suit me fine. They don't want to marry, I don't want to marry, and we all like each other enough to be honest about it. Maybe you want to try it sometime.”

 

“No thank you. But if it makes you happy, so be it.”

 

Jecht looked at him, surprised, and then burst out laughing. “God, she took that stick outta there and broke it over her knee, didn't she?”

 

“She took... Oh.”

 

“I'm just saying, you would've gotten all huffy before.”

 

Auron shrugged as he retarred his brush. “It's not to my taste. It doesn't have to be any stronger than that.”

 

“Uh-huh. Speaking of your tastes, how's things going with the apothecary?” Jecht waggled his eyebrows.

 

“She's still in mourning.”

 

“Ugh, you dummy. Have you two at least talked when you pick stuff up?”

 

“Well, yes—”

 

“She still giving you tea and cookies?”

 

Auron flushed a bit. “She's just being polite.”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Jecht, his voice flat. Going back to his work, he said, “Anyway. Saw Braska in the street earlier. He told me to remind you about the wine, whatever that means.”

 

“It's one of his new orders from her,” said Auron. “I'll stop by after—”

 

“Changing your clothes. You smell like a tar pit.”

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

So that evening after going home to change his clothes and get a quick wash, Auron went to Lulu's. Picking up deliveries of medicinal wine was done in the evening so people would not get the wrong impression about Braska even though he later measured out the wine into special bottles and resold them for a profit. Before he left his flat, Auron happened to glance at the blooming roses on his windowsill, which had turned from a single bloom into a compact little bush that was now completely covered in rich, dark pink flowers. He hesitated for a second before going and cutting one off with his pocketknife.

 

“ _One rose is a poor exchange for all the tea and other small foods she's given me, but it's something,”_ he thought as he trimmed the small thorns off. He wasn't sure if he should stick it in his lapel or his pocket, and eventually just decided to carry the flower in his hand. It was not a terribly far walk. Unconsciously he fiddled with the rosary beads still wound around his belt, absently missing the security of a weapon in his hand.

 

It was just the warm, glowing half of twilight when Auron went to Lulu's store. She had a large place in a decent neighborhood, normally unaffordable for a single woman running a shop alone except that Lulu's fearsome black magic made the area noticeably safer and she'd bargained the rent down for that very reason. Between those powers and her forbidding, formidable personality, most people quite respectfully called her “Mistress Besaid” and gave her a wide berth. Auron only knew her first name and thought of her as such because the first time he'd met her, he'd been accompanying Braska and they'd addressed each other as old friends, even though at the time Braska had been bringing a housewarming/condolence gift for her new move and the recent loss of her husband. Seeing how she was when she was relaxed and calm made Auron realize that much of her terrifying reputation was squarely the fault of other peoples' imaginations, which Auron certainly understood. Plenty of people had crossed the street to avoid sharing a sidewalk with him, and in Lulu's case, there was the added complication of cruel rumors suggesting her husband's death hadn't been natural. No one said as much to her face, of course, but it only compounded Lulu's isolation.

 

When he arrived, she was standing behind the counter and settling accounts, judging from the books set across the counter. Braska's casks of medicinal wine were stacked in front, tied together with braided cords for ease of carrying. As Auron approached, he noticed something different about his favorite apothecary.

 

“ _She's wearing purple today,”_ thought Auron, trying not to make too much of the change. Yet Lulu was a widow and so Auron had never seen her wear anything but black crape. Widows were to wear full mourning for one year and half-mourning for another, and in Auron's experience, many young widows immediately changed to both lighter grey gowns after a year of one color and one texture. No one skipped from full mourning to purple, which was only appropriate to be worn when mourning was actually complete.

 

“Good evening, Mistress Besaid,” said Auron, making Lulu glance up from her books as he came up to the counter.

 

“Good evening, Master Luca,” she said. Upon finding out he'd once been a warrior monk of no low rank, she'd taken to referring to him as such though he was not a master of any trade. As she looked up, her gaze went from his face to his hand, and Auron belated remembered the flower he was holding.

 

“Ah, this is...” Auron suddenly realized how things looked and could have kicked himself for appearing to be an opportunistic pervert. Yet there was nothing to do but do the deed, so he offered her the rose and said, “This is for you. I hope you are not allergic.”

 

“Thankfully no,” said Lulu, taking the flower with a little smile. As she examined the bloom, Auron noticed a few other things about her appearance today. Her skin seemed even smoother and paler than it usually was, her beauty mark slightly more pronounced. Was it just the little blush across her cheeks that made them seem so? Wait, she was blushing? Why was she blushing? Auron had the distinct feeling he was missing something terribly obvious, something that'd probably get him called a fool by Braska and Jecht both.

 

Still, seeing Lulu smile at the little token made Auron feel a little better about not remaining on strictly professional grounds. He dithered for as long as it took for him to make sure the braided cords holding the casks of wine together were secure, and when he straightened, he said casually, “Mistress Besaid, I couldn't help but notice your different attire.”

 

“It has been over two years since Chappu passed away,” she said, setting the rose against her hair. The dark pink color complemented her ruby gaze and the flower itself made her look young, though Auron tried not to be too charmed. He'd seen her tuck pencils behind her ear in the same way and there was no water around for her to stick the rose in. She was just holding onto it, not trying to look... Well...

 

“Ah,” said Auron, remembering to contribute to the conversation. “I had assumed it was more recent.”

 

“It conveniences me for people to think so,” Lulu said, signing her name on one of the ledgers with a sharpness that had scared weak-minded people. Yet her handwriting was quite beautiful, the perfect combination between legible and artistic. “I have no desire to be mobbed by would-be suitors. With the appearance of full mourning, all but the most uncouth are kept away.”

 

Did she mean him? Auron pondered this, but decided she wasn't. He had always been very careful to be polite and take his leave if it looked like she was busy or there was no good reason for him to stay. Besides, she was wearing his present to her in her hair. She wouldn't do that for someone she disliked.

 

“A clever strategy,” he said, and she glanced up at him. One of the things that had first interested Auron about Lulu was that she also viewed the world out of a single eye. And like him, she was also scarred. A thick fall of raven-dark hair hid what looked like burns that curled over her otherwise relentlessly beautiful face. She'd suffered them in the same accident that had taken her husband's life.

 

“Some find it dishonest,” she said, her voice neutral.

 

“They are not entitled to know your business or availability.”

 

Lulu chuckled and then showed him one of her rare smiles. It softened her just enough to make her look human, though no less formidable.

 

“Why the change then?” Auron felt compelled to ask. 

 

“Because Dr. Bevelle always sends you on the seventh of the month,” said Lulu, closing the ledger she'd been working on. It took Auron a moment to realize the significance of what she had said.

 

“I see,” he said, stunned. As Lulu tidied away the books, Auron cleared his throat and said, “Well, then...”

 

She glanced up at him, just a flick of the eye. It looked like she was warning him off, except Auron also caught the slight catch in her breath and the even slighter parting of her lips. Absently he noticed she was also wearing makeup—not much, but enough to make her one eye look especially large and lovely, and her lips seemed touched with a shade of purple that matched her well too. She _had_ dressed up knowing he would come. Auron swallowed. His heart started to race a bit, filling him with a warmth that was not purely physical. He had always told himself that Lulu was only polite to him, or at the most, friendly because he didn't fear her. Apparently it had been more.

 

One year ago, even six months ago, Auron would have made some excuse to leave lest an attack come for him. It had always been easier to avoid entanglement and possible humiliation. Now he clenched his hands around the braided cords around the casks and took a deep breath instead. He knew he wasn't fixed, exactly, but it was easier to try new things now that he didn't feel quite so broken. The dark pink rose that had once been the color of sunset seemed to look pointedly at him, but rather than feel awkward, Auron felt a little more confident. Just a little bit. Oh Yevon. Hopefully Lulu wouldn't throw a fireball at him while he was holding flammable medicinal wine.

 

“If I may be so bold,” Auron said stiffly, concentrating on keeping his voice calm and his posture upright. “May I have the honor of escorting you home some evening?”

 

Lulu was still a moment. But before Auron could wonder if he had guessed wrong, she smiled. And _what_ a smile! At once, the years of grief and care fell away, revealing a much happier woman that had only ever known the sweetness of life and love. No wonder she'd been worried about being swarmed by amorous idiots. Before she spoke Auron knew he had an answer that would make his heart glad he'd pushed past its panicked racing.

 

“You may,” she said in a warm, pleased voice. “In fact, you may do so any evening you'd like.”

 

Auron bowed, not caring that his dark shades slipped down somewhat, nor that his white muffler (worn loose ever since Le Jardin) dipped to reveal more of his face. Lulu's smile seemed to glow even more. A knot of wretched tension still throbbed in his gut, but it was so much easier to ignore with something good as a bulwark against it.

 

“Then if it does not trouble you, I should like to escort you tomorrow after you close for the night.”

 

“It will not trouble me in the least, and I will see you at six o' clock.”

 

Auron nodded. Hefting his grip on the casks of wine to carry them without cutting into his fingers, he bowed once more and left the shop. A lifetime of restraint did not permit him to react in terribly visible ways, but the walk passed by in a pleasant haze and Braska even commented that he seemed to be in a good mood. Auron just nodded, not wanting to crow about what had just happened like an emotional youth, but when he went home for the night, Auron looked once more at the little rosebush blooming on his windowsill. Even with the one flower he'd cut off, it did not look damaged or even lopsided.

 

“Thank you,” he said softly, like the flower could pass a message to its original owner. The little rosebush of course did not react. But the next day Auron thought his flat once more smelled lightly of tuberose and vanilla.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The setting demanded that Auron and Lulu needed last names, so I figured the cities where we first meet them make the most sense (Spiran cities, that is: otherwise Auron's last name would be 'Zanarkand' and that leaves Jecht with nothing, though it's not really important at the moment). While this is the last chapter of the main story, there is a Quistis-centric epilogue in about one week after this! Hope you enjoy it as much as the rest of the fic!


	5. epilogue

“ _I am going to be scolded very thoroughly,”_ thought Quistis as she watched the most interesting client she'd had in months leave and never come back. Alone in her private parlor, she sighed. The line of his back, his broad shoulders, the shocking history written in his scars, all of it made Quistis tingle with longing. That was a man who'd have so much more to offer than oblique conversation, jewelry, and calf-eyed looks brimming with infatuation. But alas, he was poor and sensible. He would never return to Le Jardin again and give Quistis another opportunity to consume the well-aged, complex heartache he'd been carrying for so long. It was like eating a rich meal after a month of butter and bread. The aching pit of power in Quistis's stomach was finally silent for the first time in ever so long, sated by the unique energy of someone else's broken heart. It was a very good thing for Quistis's clients that psychologically tormenting them for more energy was something she found abhorrent, though her benefactor and fellow successor-candidate did not feel the same way.

 

The rest of the night was considerably more mundane. Quistis cleaned up and dressed for a party where she was supposed to make her next client look like the most interesting man in the room while not alarming or insulting any of the female guests there. After that gathering of glittering people, it was back to Le Jardin to meet another client who didn't have the money to hire her services outside the building. Both clients were much more her usual type, wealthy men who happened to be lonely because they were too busy for conventional companionship and unwilling to marry someone they'd have to ignore most of the time. They were also rather taken with the pretty façade she put on just for them as well as just canny enough to know that it was false, which provided Quistis's spiritual appetite with enough heartache to keep her fed if not satisfied. Keeping them 'in love' with her was easy verging on boring, which was why Quistis had gone sifting through the calling cards for something that had that extraspark. That Auron had turned out to be so delightfully rough-hewn and manly against her usual perfectly presentable gentleman had been another bonus.

 

Not that his looks would make much of an impact on Madame Edea, the proprietress of Le Jardin and Quistis's benefactor. She was, as the rumors said, a sorceress, but what was not said was just how powerful she actually was. People underestimated Edea because of her business, never imagining that Edea managed Le Jardin for the sole purpose of generating more magical power. She thrived on the fascination of others and over time, had managed to make Le Jardin function as an extension of her own body when it came to collecting that essence. Anyone who came to Le Jardin looking for fun, adventure, love, or even just a night of oblivion: all of them gave their energy to Le Jardin's black-robed proprietress, who dressed like a sorceress of yore to evoke even more fascination. The dramatic black gown and ornate crown would look ridiculous on anyone else, however, and Quistis did not plan on continuing Edea's fashion sense once she took over the business. But it wouldn't do to put the cart before the bird. Edea had some kind of number in her head; power gathered, age, money brought in, something. Quistis knew once she reached that number, she'd finally pull ahead of her rival Xu and become the true successor of Le Jardin.

 

Said rival (though she was more like a sister and certainly a friend) was sitting in the parlor outside Madame Edea's office, drinking tea and wearing one of the long, slim-style Wutiaan dresses that most Galbadians found deeply shocking for its lack of corseting, extreme tailoring, and the fact that there was a split up both sides of the skirt nearly exposed all of Xu's legs when one viewed them from the right angle. Quistis took the seat next to Xu with a soft _whoosh_ of her Galbadian-style skirts and petticoats. At least the fashion for things with hoops had gone out several years ago or Quistis would not have been able to see the other side of the room after the boneless way she collapsed.

 

“Tch,” said Xu by way of greeting, with just enough of a good-natured flash in her dark eyes that Quistis smiled back. “You've had a good night, haven't you?”

 

“You too,” said Quistis, eyeing her rival back with the special sort of sight that sorceresses and sorceress candidates shared. Xu thrummed with energy, more than her usual, but her expression mirrored the dissatisfaction that Quistis herself felt. “Yet...?”

 

“Mine ran away,” said Xu, which made Quistis nearly laugh in surprise. Xu scowled as she said, “He's a _guilo-_ worshipper who pretends not to miss the homeland, so I pretended to call him 'big brother' and—”

 

“What?”

 

“Not _real_ brother, that's a different word. It's more like...” Xu waved her hand impatiently. “The point is, it's unique to us and it's taboo. Think of it as romancing your brother's best friend, if that best friend looks up to you and trusts you implicitly, and will do whatever you want because that's just the way things are done. The absolute epitome of innocence that you must _absolutely_ never abuse.”

 

“Oh my,” said Quistis, starting to appreciate just how much guilt Xu would have been able to harvest off that particular target.

 

“Anyway, he love-hated it so much I nearly blacked out from the energy transfer, but then he left without a word and when I looked out the window, he was running away like a priest in the red-light district!” Xu huffed, but shook her head with a toothy little smile. “I think I frightened him.”

 

“There'll be others,” said Quistis, patting Xu on the hand.

 

“I hope!” sighed Xu. Then she looked at Quistis slyly. “I saw _your_ man. You do love the broken ones, don't you?”

 

“I don't know what you mean.”

 

“Yes you do. The widower with the iron arm, the young soldier with the false leg, and now a masked man with one eye—you have a type, Miss Trepe. What is it about ugliness that intrigues you so?”

 

“They are not ugly,” Quistis said tartly, her heart flaring protectively for all those particular clients. “When someone is truly convinced that nobody wants them, the depths of their broken heart become even more intense, that's all.”

 

Xu made a sardonic noise of agreement, which Quistis frostily did not return. Quistis savored and eventually soothed her favorites' heartbreak over being unloved, but if Xu got hold of any of those clients, she'd make them despair that they'd ever dreamed someone could want them. Then slyly she'd insinuate that at least _she_ had a use for them, and after totally blanking their minds with her bag of tricks, they'd come back as reluctantly and faithfully as new drug addicts. But Xu had her honor. She did not drive anyone to take their lives and at least with some of her clients, was soft more often than sharp. Not that anyone could ever get her to admit it, however, not even Madame Edea.

 

When the door to the Madame's office opened in a silent rush of sorcerous power, the women immediately stood up. “Enter,” came a cool, familiar voice, and both Xu and Quistis reflexively smoothed their clothing and hair before going into Madame Edea's office. As always, it was dark and draped in sound-muffling swathes of fabric that hung like cobwebs in the air. Madame Edea sat behind a somewhat more prosaic-looking desk, though it was a thin-legged thing that allowed her dramatic outfit to be on display even while she was sitting. Quistis and Xu curtsied before her desk, respectfully averting their eyes even though they two were allowed above all others to look her in the face.

 

“I see you two have had profitable nights,” said Edea, her glowing golden eyes glancing from one woman to the other. Quistis was not sure if Edea was putting on a glamour to harvest even more fascination or if this was the visible manifestation of all the power of Le Jardin. “But perhaps not as profitable as they might have been. Xu, how would you have improved your performance with your special guest?”

 

“I would have spoken Galbadian more,” said Xu promptly. “Then change to our native language once intimacy began. Starting in Wutiaan made him uncomfortable rather than the addictive sort of guilty, but using it as a 'secret language' would have tied more accurately into his self-hatred and shame.”

 

“Well thought,” said Edea, then looked at Quistis. “And you? Where did you fail with your guest?”

 

Quistis suppressed the urge to steel herself with a deep breath. “He was in love with an Al Bhed woman. I could have used glamour to alter my looks just enough that he would think he was with his long-lost love, or at the very least, turn my eyes green and let him fool himself.”

 

“And why did you not?” asked Edea as Xu looked at Quistis, impressed.

 

“Firstly, because he was a former Yevonite Guardian, so his mental disciplines would make him resistant to glamour and self-delusion. Secondly, the Al Bhed woman is dead. Once he realized the deception, he would have experienced intense guilt instead of heartbreak and I would not have been able to take anything.”

 

“So in other words, you would have done nothing differently tonight.”

 

Quistis flinched, but nodded. “Nothing differently at all, Madame.”

 

“Hm.” And with just that word, Quistis knew she was in trouble. She could practically feel Edea's eyes burning into the top of her head. Her skin chilled when Edea said, “Xu, dear, take your rest.”

 

“Yes, Madame,” said Xu immediately, not quite sounding relieved but close. She did brush Quistis's hand in sympathy before leaving the office, the doors opening and shutting silently behind her. Quistis unconsciously gripped her hands together, fingers twisting together like she was a child again.

 

“Quistis, I have some concerns about your dedication to the craft.” Edea's tone was mild, which made things even worse. Quistis's gaze dropped to the floor. “Do you not wish to become the head of Le Jardin?”

 

“I do, Madame, more than anything.”

 

“Then why do you hesitate? For months, you have only cultivated easy clients with no more passion in them than a cheap watercolor palette.” Edea paused, making Quistis cringe in foreboding. “You know what you must do.”

 

“Madame, I have clients who love me—”

 

“They adore you with a pallid bittersweetness, my dear, but it is not love,” said Edea, her voice as cool and sharp as a surgeon's knife. Quistis swallowed, a struggle since her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “You cause them amusing discomfort, not true heartbreak. For that, they must wholly be in love with you and then lose you forever. There is no need for you to love them back, if that is what you fear.”

 

“...Madame, my abilities for such a monumental task are not yet perfect,” said Quistis, forcibly stilling her wringing hands. “Breaking through a gentleman's understanding of our world and our arrangement is very difficult. You say I have been cultivating easy clients, but I beg you to consider that I am patiently wearing away their good sense and their resistance. Have I not acquired steadily rarer and more expensive gifts well above the norm of any courtesan of Le Jardin?”

 

“It is true that your clients are generous, but gifts do not love make.” Edea's eyes gleamed in the darkness, burning like torches. “Nor does infatuation, no matter how intense. Your skills are impressive, Quistis, but they are stagnating. One year, Quistis. Make _some_ attempt at improving yourself in one year, or I will remove you from the candidacy. Now, why don't you go to bed? You've worked quite hard and tomorrow is another day.”

 

“Yes, Madame,” said Quistis, curtsying at once. Self-control had her leave the office at a normal walk and the absolute refusal that anyone see her less than perfect had her practically strolling back to her apartments on the third floor, but once the door was shut and locked, Quistis sank to the floor with great gasps of fear that threatened to unmake her. If Edea removed her from the candidacy of sorceress power, Quistis would never learn to control her 'appetite', which had grown fearfully with age. As full as she felt from Auron's delicious heartbreak at the moment, it would not be more than three days before she began to feel empty and restless again, her mind becoming confused and fractured as it starved for something mere food could not supply. A week without taking in heartbreak and Quistis would actually become sick, her body declining from the vital nutrient it needed. And if all that wasn't bad enough, using any kind of power made her crave more of it, not unlike how some poor souls chased green fairies or blue ruin.

 

“ _I could make someone fall in love with me and then drink their soul from the shards of their broken heart. But what would that make me? I won't be that kind of greedy, mindless monster. I will not drive someone to despair. I will not have blood on my hands just so I may live.”_

 

Yet Edea was not wrong. She _had_ been hesitating about seeing just how much power she could pull off someone. Broken hearts were all around, but finding ones that still beat fiercely with unresolved hurt despite time and reason was more difficult. And finding someone who could afford to see her multiple times so she could keep tapping that energy was even more difficult, as wealthy people were resigned to the customs of their station and blunted their anguish to the point of near uselessness. That was another reason why Quistis gravitated towards 'broken' clients; every time they looked in the mirror, they relived their heartbreak all over again. Or at least, they did until they met her.

 

Between Auron's departure and meeting her next client, Quistis had come back to her apartments to dress and had deposited his gift in a box that was reserved for tokens of her favorite clients. Tonight as with all nights, Quistis opened the box and touched each little object, all of which were small and on the surface, not valuable. There was still a faint energetic trace of each favorite client on each object, stronger if it had come into her possession more recently. This man had lost his wife in the same accident that had taken his arm. This soldier had survived a slaughter that had killed his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms around him. This warrior had been totally betrayed by the lady she'd pledged everything to, and this woman had spent years denying herself, only to lose her sweet girl when she finally found her. And this man... Quistis rolled the Principal under finger, feeling the ache for a love a man would never dare ask from his best friend's wife because he loved his friend just as much. Usually Quistis just sighed and patted the tokens like they were pets before going to sleep, but now tears blurred her vision. She carefully wiped them away before they could fall and dressed down for bed with her throat feeling full of knives.

 

“ _I could make someone fall in love with me, but it would never be as real or as intense as anything my favorites ever felt for their loves. For such a thing to happen, the person in question would have to know about my 'appetite' and what I needed to do. Who could love someone like that? No one capable of loving as deeply as I need... As I want. And no one I could love back, either, because then when I finally broke their heart, it would mean breaking mine as well. And I do_ not _want to live through such a thing again._

 

“ _But I must do something. I_ must _progress somehow or I will never learn to control the power or fully sate it. I have to find a suitable client soon and harvest enough energy to impress Edea. Ideally someone who's nursed their broken heart for a long time, or someone who's had it broken in a spectacular fashion very recently. Someone who denies themselves the release of calling it what it is. Someone proud, who ferments their own suffering and amplifies it by refusing to let it be known. And just as importantly, someone rich enough to see me many times so I can take each facet of their heartbreak and make it mine. I need not break a whole heart if I can gather up every single piece of a shattered one.”_

 

Her waking thoughts were thus, and yet Quistis fell asleep dreaming the feel of a warm embrace, a sweet kiss, desire and heat and a beating heart that loved her in every way she existed. It was beautiful and ridiculous. Even dreaming, Quistis knew that such a heart was real only in her mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everyone! This was a fun fic to write though it gave me unexpected amounts of difficulty. I do like my AU's but this is definitely a lot more worldbuilding than I usually do, as well as less florid when it comes to the erotic scenes. It was a challenge, but a fun one, and I'm glad that so many people told me to run with it when I originally floated the idea on Tumblr. Thanks for all the support! I hope to be able to write a more expanded sequel someday.

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be a one-shot and then got out of hand, like everything else I do. I REGRET NOTHIIIING. Also, I am not a sex worker so if I get things so incredibly wrong that it takes a reader out of the story, please message me and let me know. This is a trial run for a longer fic in the same universe later.


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